When Worlds Collide
by BryceG
Summary: When the airspace above Hogwarts is accidentally marked "unrestricted," events are set in motion that will change the wizarding world forever. Eventual romance between Fleur and an OC. Main character for the story is OC. Rated M for violence, sexual themes (later in story) and language. Also a Hermione/OC pairing
1. A Costly Mistake

AN – Please note this is going to be VERY AU, and most changes I make are _intentional_. I've been pretty liberal in some of my changes. If you see any inconsistencies within my story, feel free to mention it. Reviews are welcome, constructive criticism is welcome but please be civil. Harry Potter stuff is obviously not mine, the original characters are.

* * *

 **Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC)** – An initiative by the U.S. Military to unify command of its special operations units. While each special operations unit is still a part of its branch, they all report to JSOC.

 **MACUSA** – Magical Congress of the United States of America – Located in the Washburn building of New York City, MACUSA is the governing body of the magical community in the United States. The magical community in America is significantly weaker than its muggle counterpart. Having been hunted to near extinction during the witch trials, it has not yet fully recovered. MACUSA has difficulty containing threats to the secrecy statute along with hostile creatures, being understaffed as it is. They are convinced to provide support to the development of Task Force Ansible.

 **Magic Genetic Enhancement Program** – Designed to manipulate the genes of muggles, allowing to them to see and feel magic. While it does not make someone a wizard, they can see dementors and other magical creatures normally hidden to muggles. Has a significantly higher success rate the younger the subject.

 **Magic Infused Munitions and Equipment (MIME) Program** – One of the JSOC programs assisted by MACUSA, the primary purpose is to harden muggle equipment to magical effects. Creates Night Vision Goggles, SatNav, Drones, Helicopters, etc. hardened against magical warding. Also enchants ammunition and grenades to be enhanced with magic. Primary ammunition used by TFA is rubber or plastic rounds enchanted with Stupefy or Petrificus Totalus. Heavy rounds are enchanted with Bombarda, etc. Using stunning rounds allows for arresting targets, or enforcing rules on armed populations without lethal force. Magazines are color coded by the spell used in its enchantment.

 **Orbital Cargo Delivery Satellite (OCDS)** – An expensive program by the US military to limit the gear special operators need to carry into the field. It is a space based satellite storing heavy weapons, ammunition and other heavy gear, along with emergency supplies and small vehicles. Operators of TFA carry a forearm Personal Data Assistant (PDA) with them into combat that is linked with the OCDS, and can call in gear. The gear is automatically loaded to a drop pod and deployed to the operator's location. The operator can use GPS or can manually take control of the pod at a certain distance to point it where they need it. Drop pod success rate is currently 70% and only Tier 1 units have access.

 **Task Force Ansible** – Led by a former Delta Operator, Colonel Marshall Sumner, Task Force Ansible is a project created by JSOC to provide the non-magic military an effective means to respond to magical threats. Through assistance from the MACUSA, several short notice/high priority projects culminate into a regiment strength force capable of seeing and fighting magic and magical creatures. Task Force is 1400 soldiers strong, with the entire front line force staffed by youths aged 15-17 years old from Spartan Program. Most officers and support personnel have received gene therapy to varying rates of success, but are adults.

 **Spartan Program** – U.S. Military program taking orphaned children, especially those orphaned by terrorism, and training them as special operations soldiers. Spartans were not necessarily U.S. citizens when recruited. Spartan program is eventually enveloped into Task Force Ansible, as the youths are significantly more susceptible to the genetic enhancements to needed to see or interact with magic, along with their success as soldiers. Most are at an Army Ranger equivalent and are called Spartans, a small cadre are trained by Tier 1 units and are more along the lines of Delta Operators. They're referred to as Operators.

* * *

Edgar Weatherford, Assistant to the Director of the National Air Traffic Services, tried to take another sip of his tea. Of course, it was empty. Sighing he heaved his plump frame and waddled to the break room, leaving behind his desk with its significant stacks of files. His body protested the movement, joints yearning for the sedentary style he was so used to at home. Sitting at the uncomfortable desk all day was not doing him any favors, and these last few days he was doing a lot of sitting at his desk.

He slowly worked his way back to the desk, dreading the work ahead. The new Prime Minister came into office fulfilling his promise to decommission several military bases around the UK. This meant that the airspace needed to be reclassified as unrestricted. Unfortunately, they were simultaneously transferring from paper to digital tracking systems and so the workload was significant.

Prior to his appointment as Assistant Director, Edgar had spent almost ten years on data entry and programming. Not because the job held any interest for him whatsoever, but because it put him in an office where he could bump elbows with the important people.

He'd done his job well enough. Not the best, but certainly not the worst. He'd made friends with the right people however, which finally led to his promotion. It'd been years since he'd done data entry of any form and he'd relished forgetting the information, making room for trivial information about the soap operas he didn't admit to watching at night.

He still recalled the conversation with the Director when the upcoming workloads were being assigned. The Director padded his ego, he was adept at that. He too was man who had made friends with the right people. Still, the Director insisted that Edgar was the man for the job. Staffing was short, they needed help to meet the deadline, _you're the only one who can help, Edgar!_

So, for the past week of his life, Edgar spent every minute of his shift at his desk. Instead of sipping at his tea in conference rooms and shirking responsibility of tasks to others, he was checking reference numbers for each sector of airspace against the updated classification code list and then manually creating each computer file for the sector. It was mind-numbing work at best and had taken him a painfully long time to remember the proper process, but once completed it would make tracking and updating significantly faster. Looking at the pile remaining on his desk, he estimated about two more hours of work ahead. It was Friday and looking at the clock he realized the end of his shift was only minutes away.

Reluctantly he sat down, picking up the first pile. Damned if he was coming in on his weekend to work the rest of this. He began the arduous task, and a few painfully slow hours later he had only two files left. He checked the time again, and a slight hope filled him. With a little luck, he might actually be off in time for the finale of _The Earl's Handmaiden._ It promised to be a doozy. He went in for another sip of his tea and his pudgy finger missed the loop, spilling the tea across the two remaining files.

"Bugger!" he said louder than he'd intended, snatching the files out of the spilled tea. He set the files in a dry spot and went about cleaning his desk. It didn't take him long so he decided to hurry up and finish. Good thing he didn't need these files anymore after tonight. He logged the first file without problem, but the second file was an issue. The tea had made it into the file and the ink was splotchy. Was that an eight or a six?

 _The hell with it_ , he thought, _six it is. The Earl waits for no man,_ he mused, smiling to himself at the thought of his show. He checked the reference number against that of the file and logged it unrestricted. He rapidly completed the last file in the computer system and shredded the physical copy. The last of the work done, he logged off and went home, completely unaware that his action marked the sector containing one of the most secret and prodigious schools in the UK as open airspace. While it would take several years, his mistake would forever change the wizarding world of which he knew nothing about.


	2. Crash

A pair of UH-60 Blackhawk helicopters swept over the trees in a secluded area of Britain. Skilled pilots flew what they called "nap of the earth," their aircraft mere feet from the treetops as they made toward their objective.

These were no ordinary Blackhawks, and the personnel flying and riding no ordinary soldiers. Crewman of the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment operated the enhanced helicopters, augmented with advanced avionics, thermal optics, and a wide variety of other improvements over the original model. Their task was to get the Delta operators to and from the objective; a downed experimental UAV prototype.

The prototype was the apparently the culmination of four years of research and development between the U.S. and British Air Forces. It represented a true leap in unmanned technology and the prototype alone cost just shy of a hundred million U.S. dollars. At the edge of an unnamed, innocuous forest, that investment stopped responding to controls and crashed into the ground.

The nearest units to the crash site with the security clearance and experience to mount a recovery happened to be an American team from the 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment - Delta, commonly referred to Delta Force or simply The Unit. Fresh from a tour in Afghanistan, they were honed to a razor's edge.

"We're about ten minutes out!" Captain Marshal Sumner heard over his radio. Lieutenant Washburn, the pilot of his Blackhawk was also the flight leader. On hearing the announcement, Sumner rechecked his weapons and gear for anything not in perfect shape. He had done so several times already but carelessness got you dead.

"Gentlemen," Capt. Sumner addressed his operators over the unit wide comm. "This might well be the milk run command expects, but until we are boots-at-base, I want heads on a swivel and rifles at the ready. I catch one of you slacking, and I swear to the Great Man in the sky that I will have you standing door duty outside the shit house faster than you can blink." His comments earned a few chuckles from the operators, but each one of them knew just how serious the Captain was. A bullet can kill you anytime, and one second of not being at a hundred percent could make the difference.

The Captain looked out just in time to see the other Blackhawk, Super 6-2, break right and out of formation. Simultaneously the co-pilot of his aircraft, Super 6-1, began flipping dials at his console and a general feeling of unease settled on the occupants of both helicopters.

"Super 6-2 is bingo fuel, aborting." Sumner heard over the radio. How could they be so low on fuel already, they should have been fully fueled at the start of the flight.

"Super 6-1, reading mechanical failure, suggest aborting," the co-pilot of Super 6-1 stated over the radio almost immediately after. The pilot looked over his dials and saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"What are you talking about?" the flight leader asked. "Console is green across the board. Super 6-2, confirming bingo fuel?"

"Affirmative, we have just enough to get back to base," the pilot replied. Lt. Washburn shook his head, they just lost half their element. Who overlooked fueling? He rechecked, and the all of the instrument panels were clear.

"Guardian, Super 6-1," Lt. Washburn called the operational commander. "Super 6-2 is bingo fuel and RTB. Super 6-1 is continuing."

"Guardian copies all," was the only reply. Captain Sumner and the seven operators with him could only listen as the other half of their unit turned away. Though none of them would admit it, the feeling of forgetting something was strong in each of them. Seasoned professionals as they were however, they simply rechecked their weapons and gear to ensure that what little they could control at this point was ready to go.

The flight continued for several minutes without a word, until the helicopter crested a small mountain. Below them in a clearing was a plume of smoke and what looked like a crash site. In the distance they could see what appeared to be a castle or some other structure. It was difficult to tell at a distance.

"Super 6-1 is eyes on target." Lt. Washburn said coolly, maneuvering the helicopter toward the crash site. The Delta operators began to prepare for landing when the helicopter went silent. There was no alert, no alarms or flashing lights. The droning sound in Captain Sumner's headset was gone. All of this registered in his mind in the first second, and then he felt his stomach leap up into his throat as the helicopter began a rapid descent.

"Super 6-1 is going down!" Lt Washburn called into his headset by reflex. "Brace, brace, brace!" No one on board could hear him, but they instinctively held tight as the helicopter plummeted toward the crash site. The Blackhawk barely crested the remaining trees before smashing into the ground, knocking its occupants about. Captain Sumner hit his helmet against the wall of the helicopter and everything went black.


	3. Crisis

AN – I decided not to have the derelict old castle routine for the muggles. For this story the "making magic look like ruins" charm doesn't exist and Wizardkind put their lot into repulsing charms

* * *

Commander Ansen took another swig of coffee as he finished typing his report. Everyone made fun of the Commander for preferring coffee over the more traditional tea, but he didn't mind it. Coffee simply tasted better.

All special operations deployments always required a significant paper trail, and heaven forbid, the operation happening on home soil. Add that it's technically a foreign military conducting the operation, and the i's had better have their dots.

Commander Ansen got word within an hour of the failed test flight of an experimental UAV. As the Commander of the United Kingdom Special Forces Department, or UKSF, the equivalent of the US military's JSOC, he was tasked with its retrieval or barring that, its destruction. After taking stock of the available units nearby, there was only one that was really up to the task. An American Delta Force team fresh from Afghanistan. They were in Britain awaiting transport back to the United States, but were fully equipped and close to the crash site. Closer than any of the SAS teams anyways.

The United States and Britain were close allies and technically the fallen drone was as much a United States project as it was British. Commander Ansen gave the order, and within three hours of the original crash, two helicopters were on the way, and Ansen had a stack of paperwork to do. Now, having finished it, he submitted it and went about the next task in a long and never ending list.

Several floors away, Senior Analyst Frank Bradbury received a copy of the report. He skimmed it, checking for any errors and almost missed an incredibly important detail. With a start, he checked the coordinates of the operation. He knew those coordinates.

Bradbury copied them down and walked quickly to his large map of Britain. A quick check confirmed his fear. _It was next to Hogwarts!_

Senior Analyst Bradbury had obtained his position in British Special Operations due to an incredible attention to detail, along with an ability to finish tasks in near record time. What the British government did not know was that he was actually an employee of a different government. He was not a traitor, not a foreign spy. On the contrary, he was a senior operative of the Office of Misinformation for the British Ministry of Magic. His duty was to monitor the operations of muggle soldiers and ensure that they did not discover any magical location in Britain.

This task was largely moot, as warding at the locations typically prevented most muggles from getting near, and assistance from the top levels of muggle government kept most locations difficult for muggles to travel to during the best of times. No one really questioned it, and those that did were usually visited by Obliviators and their minds altered.

Now there was an emergency however. A crashed drone near Hogwarts, and there were already soldiers on the way. He quickly logged off of his computer and left the office, muttering something about feeling ill to the few who inquired at his hasty exit. He went to a secluded area and with a quick twist, apparated to the Ministry to inform them of the impending disaster.

* * *

Captain Sumner felt himself being shaken and opened his eyes. Something was wrong. He blinked away the blur in his vision and saw his second-in-command, Master Sergeant Randy Wheeler pulling him up from the overturned Blackhawk. Sumner waved him off and made an attempt to stand. The floor was slanted, and it took him a moment to get his balance and take stock of the situation.

The helicopter was almost on its side, and his people seemed to have already cleared from the wreckage. A quick look outside revealed that they were in the clearing, about three hundred yards from the downed UAV. Nothing was on fire yet, but he didn't want to stay and risk it.

"You all right, Sumner?" the Master Sergeant asked, still concerned. Delta operators were held to a different standard, much more relaxed about rules and regulations. No one cared if they called each other by proper rank, as long as they remained one of the world's premier tier-one fighting forces.

"I'm fine," Sumner replied, reaching for a hand to get out of the downed helicopter. "What's our situation?" If there was one person in the world Sumner trusted to get things done right, it was Wheeler. The man was a top notch operator and always seemed to be thinking the same thing as his commanding officer.

"All of our electronics are out, probably what knocked the chopper down." He replied, his deep voice a by-product of his accumulated hours lifting anything heavy he could get his hands on. "All of the SOAR guys are injured in some way. The Lieutenant has dual femur fractures, Danner, Beckwith and Miller all have leg injuries. Rest of us are banged up but operational. I sent Barger and Haney to check the perimeter, Taggart is getting the wounded set up in a firing position about halfway between us and the UAV. Some good defensible ground there." Why Wheeler didn't have his own team was a wonder.

"Excellent," Sumner said, now standing with Wheeler outside the helicopter. The tail was broken and the rotors were shredded but the rest of the Blackhawk was in remarkably good condition. "Hit the Blackhawk with 2T and regroup at the firing positon. I'm going to go get a look at the UAV." It was standard procedure to torch their downed aircraft unless there was absolutely no danger of it falling into the wrong hands. The United States had some of the most advanced aircraft in the world, and its special operations forces took that a step farther, though most of those changes remained highly classified. Maintaining that edge meant leaving nothing behind for other nations or parties to reverse-engineer. They were in an allied nation but two advanced aircraft downed in the same area…not a chance he was taking.

"Copy," Wheeler replied even as Sumner started off toward the UAV. Wheeler went about setting several charges in predesignated locations throughout the helicopter. The operators used what they called 2T, a mixture of thermite charges on the most sensitive electronic components and thermobaric charges used to shatter the rest of the vehicle. Thermobaric weapons differ from conventional explosives in that they were almost one hundred percent fuel. That fact changed the playing field, giving thermobaric weapons the most destructive force of any explosive short of a nuclear weapon. These charges were much smaller than some used by the Air Force and Navy, but were more than up to the task of dismantling a vehicle.

Captain Sumner stopped at the makeshift firing position on his way to the UAV. The wounded were in a circle facing outward in the best positions of cover available. Rifles were ready and extra ammunition nearby. Taggart was moving about the wounded, patching whatever was bleeding. Lt. Washburn was stabilized, asleep from the pain medication Taggart had given him. With everything in order, Sumner continued on to the UAV.

"Boss," Haney greeted his commanding officer, his southern drawl as apparent as ever. Hany and Barger had finished their patrol and on seeing Sumner on the way to the UAV, met him there. Well, beat him there by a few minutes. "What do you make of this?" he asked, indicating the ground around the UAV.

"Find anything out there?" Sumner asked as he took a look at the ground, curious about their findings during the patrol. Hoof prints, looked like several horses had taken a close look at the downed prototype. Sumner began walking around the UAV, and Haney followed.

"Nothing but some hoof prints. Same as these. Couple horses maybe, no boot or foot prints though. If someone was riding those horses, they didn't get off," Haney said as they checked around the experimental aircraft. Just as Haney said, there were no other prints on the ground. "Nothing obvious missing from the UAV either."

"Looks like it," Sumner said, still unsure of what to make of it. "Set up 2T charges and blow it. First this goes down, then us. Someone knows it's here and we need to keep their hands off it." It took a little time, without intimate knowledge of where to place the charges they went with the tried and true "P is for Plenty" until they were confident that they had enough onboard. Half an hour later the whole group hunkered down in the firing position. Without any functioning electronics, they had to use detonation cord to blow both aircraft.

"Three, two," Sumner called out, warning everyone to expect the blasts, "one…fire in the hole!" He lit the cord and a second later two ear splitting blasts shattered the remains of both aircraft. All of the conscious members of the team looked up at the wreckage, satisfied that nothing of value could be obtained now.

"So boss," Wheeler said a few minutes later, when their hearing was a little better. "You see that castle north of here?"

"Yeah," Sumner said, again wondering why Wheeler didn't have his own team. Now that the pressing concern was taken care of, he needed to check out the castle. It was the only sign of civilization they'd noticed nearby and if someone had a weapon that could knock out any electronics, they needed to find out. With no ability to contact command, a rescue would be mounted sooner or later. If there was an electromagnetic weapon of some sort, it needed to be disabled before the rescue effort arrived or the problem would just compound. "Barger, Taggart, Haney on me. Wheeler, you hold this place down. We are going to recon the castle, see if it is the source of why we crashed."

"Copy, we'll be here," Wheeler replied as the other three operators stood to follow Sumner, checking their weapons. Wheeler had a pair of flare guns to launch at the first sign of incoming helicopters. Two red flares for dangerous landing zone. With any luck the incoming birds would hold off on flying any closer, it was the best they could hope for.

They made it about halfway to the tree line when the Captain gave his next orders. "It's coming up on dusk, ten meter spread. We don't have NODs or flashlights thanks to our fried electronics, so we take it slow and steady." The lack of night optic devices was a blow in and of itself, the ability to operate at night was one of the hallmark abilities of a special operations force. "Visual range, eyes and ears open, gents." Sumner commanded. His men simply nodded by way of acknowledgment and spread themselves in a line to the north, beginning what was likely to be a slow journey.

The Forbidden Forest was filled with many creatures of a magical nature, and though some watched the interlopers, none made any contact. The Delta operators made their way slowly and quietly to the castle, and few were better at maintaining stealth than the men on patrol. The creatures of these woods were intimately familiar with their home however, and the newcomers simply could not blend with the environment. Though none of them knew it, they were watched from the time they crashed, until they reached the edge of the forest overlooking the massive castle.

"Hold here," Sumner commanded. His men dropped low and spread across the tree line. Ahead of them lay a massive castle. Large spires shot high into the sky and the grounds were enormous. Nearby to the east was a lake of some kind and what looked like some sort of sports field to the west. Closer than he was comfortable with, near the edge of the forest, was a shack that, judging by the light and smoke coming from it, was occupied. The castle also gave off light from a number of its windows.

"See the light, boss?" Haney whispered, saying what all of them were thinking. Light meant people, and people meant a possible threat. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, where two advanced aircraft had just gone down, it meant a probable threat.

"Yeah," Sumner said idly, thinking through his options. There weren't many. This place was massive and a thorough recon was not likely with four people. If discovered, they could be in for a world of hurt. They needed to get rid of whatever was causing interference with electronics if they wanted to prevent their rescue from crashing however. That meant deploying and hoping to find the weapon. "We go in. Check the spires for an EM weapon. If it's here, it's probably up there. Good defense and better range up there. Check your weapons, we move in five. Don't fire unless we absolutely have to. If we get discovered we're humped."

The men checked weapons a final time, and each took a turn jumping and shaking themselves. Anything that jingled or gave off any kind of sound was secured. It was vitally important to stay quiet during any operation where you were significantly outnumbered, which described about ninety percent of special operations work.

"Let's move," Sumner whispered, and started toward the castle. Sumner took the lead, rifle at the ready and low to the ground. Just behind him, the rest of his team were stacked up. Each of them were aimed a different direction, checking for any sign of discovery and ready to respond to any threat with deadly precision. It was probably just shy of five in the morning, an opportune time for a raid. Anyone watching for the night was at their most tired, and those responsible for day watch not quite awake yet.

"Stack up," Sumner indicated at the massive doors that lead inside. His men got close to the wall near the door one right behind another, ready to breach the door. Sumner grabbed the large handle and pulled slowly. Each creak seemed deafening in the silence of the night and as soon as it was open large enough to fit a man, they entered rapidly.

Each man took a different direction as they spilled inside, checking for corners or hiding places in the large hall that they found themselves in. Not a soul in sight, they regrouped and made their way inside, looking for a route to those spires. They made their way slowly, checking each cross hall before continuing.

"Hold," Haney whispered from the front of the group. Immediately, they dropped low and pushed to the sides of the hallway. Haney glanced around the corner into the cross hall and dropped back. He looked toward the group and held one finger up, indicating they had one person coming at them. Sumner, being closest to Haney, pulled a set of zip-tie cuffs out and crept quickly to Haney, who got himself into a fighting stance next to the corner. They waited a split second, and a figure in dark robes rounded the corner directly into the waiting Delta operator.

"Wha-?" the figure got out before Haney pounced, slamming his hand around the man's throat and hooking a foot around his knee. The man had barely hit the ground, eyes wide at the sudden violence, before he was flipped onto his stomach. Haney quickly wrapped an arm around the fallen figures neck, careful not to kill him, as Sumner tied the man's hands behind his back. A small wooden stick clattered to the floor in the scuffle, though no one noticed.

"Not a fucking word," Haney whispered into his ear, not at all impressed by the greasy hair. The fear in the subdued man's eyes was rapidly being replaced with rage. "You make one sound I'll fucking end you," Haney followed up, and that rage was tempered with a healthy fear for personal safety.

"Pick him up," Sumner whispered, and Haney lifted their prisoner up with his arm still tightly wrapped around the prisoner's throat. It wasn't graceful, but it worked. He was relatively tall, with long black greasy hair and a large pointed nose. The guy screamed dirtbag in Sumner's mind. "Here's how this works. I'm going to ask you questions and you answer. Keep quiet, answer my questions and we don't need to hurt you. You yell for help, and we will end you and whoever comes running. Nod your head if you understand." The man hesitated for a moment and shook his head yes, or at least tried to. It was no easy feat with an arm wrapped around your neck. Haney released his grip and took a step back, raising his rifle and pointing the barrel behind the man's ear.

"What's your name?" Sumner asked. The man stared for a short moment, his rage barely suppressed by his sense of self-preservation.

"Severus," he replied, his voice tight. He glanced toward Haney, obviously irritated by the barrel jammed behind his ear.

"Don't look at him, look at me," Sumner said, roughly turning his head back. "Our aircraft were brought down, where is the weapon?" A puzzled look crossed the prisoners' eye.

"I don't kn-" was all he got out before a shriek pierced the hallway.

"INTRUDER!" The cry would have frozen them in place had they not been so thoroughly trained to react first and _never_ freeze. "INTRUDER IN THE HALL!" Haney grabbed Severus roughly and pushed him face-first into the wall, holding his rifle on him. Sumner and the other two raised their rifles at different directions in the hallway, looking for the sentry that made them. The hall was empty.

"Where the hell?" Taggart asked out loud before being cut off by more and more cries of alarm, all in different voices.

"HELP! SEND FOR HELP!" one cried out. "GET DUMBLEDORE!" another shouted. The cacophony was loud and the team knew they were definitely made.

Sumner caught movement out of the corner of his eye and almost fired when he noticed it was actually a wall painting. The painting was pointing at him and shouting. _What in the hell_? Sumner's introspection was cut short by the sound of boots rushing down the hall.

"Push back, GO!" Sumner ordered. Taggart took the lead and Haney pushed their prisoner along behind him. Sumner and Barger both walked backward with their rifles at the ready. They only made it a short way when Taggart shouted.

"Contact front!" he cried out, alerting the group that their exit was blocked. Barger tapped Sumner on the shoulder to alert him that he was on his own for a moment, and went about looking for another exit. He found it in the form of a single door, near Haney.

"Door!" he shouted, and the group made towards it. Barger was the first through, securing its interior as Haney entered with Severus. Taggart and Sumner each made their way backward toward the door even as several people in sweeping robes ran at them.

"HALT!" one cried, her voice betrayed the surprise she felt at seeing them.

"Back the fuck up!" Taggart shouted, and fired two rounds over their heads. The crack of gunfire reverberated loudly in the hall and all of the responding sentries ducked their heads immediately, though some were quick to respond in kind. They waved their arms and shouted incomprehensibly, and to Sumner's surprise, red and green lights streaked at them. Sumner grabbed the handle at the back of Taggart's vest and pulled him roughly into the room. Sumner quickly kicked the door shut, and took stock of their new environment.

 _Prison was more like it_. There was one way in or out, and he just kicked it shut. It appeared to be a classroom of sorts, with several desks and books throughout. Haney had Severus on his knees in a corner of the room, while Barger was knocking over desks toward the door to create some form of concealment. It wouldn't stop a bullet, but it would make finding them a little harder.

"Fuck!" Taggart shouted, making his way over to another desk, helping Barger. Barger got his set up to the left of the door, then crouched behind and aimed at the door. Taggart went about the same as Sumner put his ear to the door. Outside he could hear whispers.

"Albus," one voice said, the same that ordered their stop earlier. "They have Severus," she whispered, an edge of concern lining her voice.

"Who are they?" asked what sounded like a very old man. "What do they want?"

"I don't know. They looked like muggles," she replied. "There is no way out of there, it's Professor Binn's class. Not even a window." Sumner sighed softly, they knew too then.

"Greetings," the old voice stated loudly, easily heard through the door. "I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of this school. Might I ask who you are?" Sumner paused for a moment, he wasn't sure what to expect, but a school wasn't it.

"Captain Marshall Sumner, United States Army," he said taking several steps back from the door. Doors don't often block bullets, and he didn't want to be on the receiving end of any. "We are here on official military business and demand you surrender your arms immediately." It was a long shot at best, but confidence didn't hurt.

"I see," Dumbledore said. "I cannot do so. You are in a school, and I cannot let you harm my students or staff in any way. I understand you have taken one of my Professors, Severus Snape."

"That's correct. He isn't hurt, but he isn't leaving this room either," Sumner said, not waiting for him to ask for the release. That prisoner was likely the only reason the door wasn't blasted off its hinges already.

"Of course," the Headmaster replied as though it was a ludicrous suggestion to release Snape. There was a loud crack outside, and some whispering. Another crack, and the Headmaster spoke again. "If you will remain patient, I have sent someone to help us clear these matters."

* * *

It was nightfall already and Commander Ansen was sitting at his desk, another late night of paperwork ahead of him. His operation was not the easy recovery he'd hoped for.

Half of the Delta element returned to base en route with low fuel, or so they'd stated. Upon their landing at the SOF base they'd launched from, they weren't even through three quarters of their fuel supply. The SOAR pilots were among the best Ansen had ever encountered and such a mistake as misreading fuel instruments was unheard of.

To add insult to injury, the remaining element was not responding to radio communications. There had been no check-in and no response to repeated attempts to raise them. It was starting to look like a problem.

 _Crack!_ Ansen jumped at what sounded like a gunshot just behind him. He reached for his sidearm when a voice responded to his movement. "That really won't be necessary, Commander."

"Who-" Ansen turned and saw a face he recognized. One of the analysts, if memory served. The man was dressed in fatigues and he was obviously unarmed. "What in the hell are you doing here?" Ansen asked angrily.

"I'm here about the UAV and the missing Delta team," he replied, stepping tentatively into the office. He'd been with UKSF for several years and knew better than to jump and surprise a special operator, no matter how long he'd been behind a desk. Time was of the essence however. "I'll require your help to end this without bloodshed and time is short, please allow me to explain."

And so Frank explained who he was and who he really worked for. He explained briefly why he was there, and had to insist that Ansen remain quiet while he finished. He then explained the downing of the helicopter and UAV near Hogwarts and the situation now unfolding, finishing off with a demonstration of magic to seal the believability of his statements.

"How'd you get this information?" Ansen asked, already having a formed list of questions.

"Some of it at my post. The Headmaster sent a house elf to alert the Ministry, of course. The elf is waiting to take us there as soon as you're ready," Analyst Bradbury answered.

"Why me? Why bring me into the fold if your directive is to keep all of this secret?" It was one of the biggest questions running through Ansen's head, aside from wondering if he'd gone mental.

"The Ministry didn't want this, of course. Took some convincing actually. They wanted to send a squad of Aurors. I convinced them not to," he replied.

"Why?" Ansen didn't need much clarification on what an Auror might be. They were obviously some kind of armed response unit and the why was what he really wanted to know.

"I've worked this post for quite some time, gotten to know the special operations community. This is a much more dangerous situation than the Ministry realizes. If there is a strong response, there _will_ be bloodshed. I want to avoid that. Please, sir, time is short."

"Right." Ansen thought for a moment. He was in charge of UKSF and had the technical authority, but the fact remained that he was a foreign Commander no matter how you slice it. The best way to _guarantee_ cooperation from the Delta team was to bring a ranking JSOC officer. They might believe the British Commander, they _would_ believe a JSOC one.

Ansen explained this to Frank who looked troubled for a moment before accepting the proposal. It was stretching the bounds of his authority to the max but he believed Ansen that it was the surest way to do this right. He apparated them closer to the office of Major Loren, the theater Commander of JSOC in the area, prepared to explain things all over again. This time with the help of a fellow muggle, however.

* * *

All together it had been an uncomfortable hour and a half. Time ticked on and Sumner had run the options through his mind. Fighting their way out was a ship that'd already sailed. There was no way this place wasn't reinforced by now. There was no other way out. The room was too small to blast a meaningful hole in the wall without killing everyone inside the room.

 _Crack!_ There were voices outside in a renewed interest.

"Captain Sumner, this is Commander Ansen," a voice called from the other side of the door. _Ansen, isn't that the British SF Commander?_ "I'm here with Major Loren. Stand down gentlemen." _Major Loren? That's the theater Commander of JSOC._

"Captain, it's the Major," a gruff voice said. Definitely Major Loren, Sumner had met the man more than once. _How the hell did he get here_? "Stand down. Open the door, and release the prisoner." His order left little room to maneuver.

"Sir?" Captain Sumner asked. "I'm sorry Sir, but how can I be sure it is you? How did you even get here?" Sumner wasn't sure what to make of his presence.

"Because I pulled your ass out of the frying pan in Kandahar last year, and because I told you to. Open the damn door," he replied. _That is definitely the Major._ Sumner looked at his guys and shrugged, opening the door. Outside, stood the Major, the Commander, and several men and women in robes.

"Release him," Sumner said simply and Haney cut Snape loose. Snape rubbed the feeling back into his hands as he stalked past everyone. One of the older women followed, likely to check his condition. "Sir, how did you get here?"

"It's a long story, and for now we will leave it. I'm here, and we are leaving." The Major turned to Commander Ansen and two others. "We will be taking our leave."

"I'm afraid it isn't that simple," the wiry one next to Commander Ansen replied. "The Ministry requires each of you to debrief with the Obliviators before you're free to go." The Major frowned, along with Commander Ansen.

"That's not happening. My men will debrief in the United States if anywhere. I have never heard of this Ministry before today and I will certainly not be turning my men over to it," he said, indicating the conversation on that subject was over. "Now, how are we getting to the airfield?" he asked Commander Ansen. Ansen was out of his depth here, not having ever heard of the Ministry of Magic or any such thing before either. _They'd teleported here!_ He was still working on wrapping his mind around it.

"I'm going to have to insist," another robed figure interjected himself. "Lead Officer Walters of the DMLE, Ministry law enforcement. The man had cut off any attempt by Ansen to reply, and the Major looked darkly at him.

"I'm afraid," he started with a hint of mocking in his voice "that you'll find that an incredible mistake." Sumner and his men subtly readied their rifles, preparing to end a confrontation if one started.

"If I might," the old man, Dumbledore, started. "These men are American." Walters looked up at Dumbledore. "They an American problem. No one was harmed, and a confrontation is not in anyone's best interest."

"I couldn't agree more Mister…." the Major looked at the old man.

"Headmaster Dumbledore." The Headmaster bowed his head slightly in greeting.

Walters looked incredulously at the group. Without support from anyone, he turned to the other Ministry official. "You know the rules, as well as I."

"I told the Minister that we should avoid bloodshed, he agreed." It was obvious there was going to be no support from anyone at all. The staff, even the greaseball, took their cue from the Headmaster and the Ministry official had denounced use of force as well.

"I see," he stated simply. "We will apparate you and your men to the airfield, where I shall expect you to leave as soon as possible." The Major nodded his head, and with that they departed. Less than half an hour later, they were all at the airfield and the wounded from the crash site were receiving medical treatment. Their priority for transport back to the United States was increased somehow to the head of the line and they were on the next C-130 out.

Lead Officer Walters sent immediate word to the MACUSA, the American Ministry, of the breach and the need for a team to meet them on their arrival for immediate obliviation to prevent breach of the Statute of Secrecy.

What he didn't have control of, however, was the years of contempt that various magical governments had held MACUSA in. They kept on superficially friendly terms of course, but no meaningful aid had ever been sent and most of the incoming messages from the British Ministry were unfriendly letters aimed at various problems within the United States. As such, the message sent was "filed" unopened into the trash bin by an under-paid and over-worked worker.


	4. Revelation

AN – I had not realized the extent of cannon history on MACUSA, so please remember this is an alternate universe. I believe I have adequate explanations as to the state of MACUSA in this universe, but if anything is confusing please leave a comment and I will adjust accordingly.

Thank you to Amanda for betaing, it has been a great help.

As a secondary note, I want to point out that this everything to and a little while past this point is to set up the story I want to tell. While the reactions might not be the pinnacle of realism, for the purposes of this story people are more interested in cooperation.

* * *

"Gentlemen, thank you for coming," Lieutenant General Raymond Thomas addressed the room. They surrounded a conference table at Fort Bragg in North Carolina. Around the table sat the rest of the senior leadership of the Joint Special Operations Command, along with Delta team leader Captain Marshall Sumner and Northern European Theater JSOC commander, Major Alfred Loren. The meeting was requested by the latter while in flight from Britain. "Major Loren, would you mind telling us what this is about?"

"Sir," Major Loren began, looking at each of the men around the table. Each had put in a significant portion of their lives to the special operations community and the Major was no different. He was about to ask them to believe quite a lot however. "As you know, our friends at United Kingdom Special Forces requested our assistance in the recovery or destruction of a UAV prototype." He drummed his fingers against the table in a failed effort to stall. He wasn't sure how to word this without sounding insane.

"Captain Sumner's Delta team was nearby, and made the response," the Major continued. "His helicopter crashed, and having seen a nearby castle, made the decision to recon. Both the helicopter and the experimental UAV were destroyed, completing the original objective. He led a team to check the castle, concerned about a possible electromagnetic weapon. Inside he made contact with..." He sucked in a breath, struggling to get the right word out of his mouth. He knew the right word, but saying it was another matter. "…wizards."

"Excuse me?" General Thomas asked, not sure that he heard the Major correctly. He had known Alfred for several years and the man was a straight shooter. Wizards however, that was a big pill to swallow. Unseen by everyone at the conference table, Sergeant John Woods, the General's aide, just about fell from his seat at the mention of wizards.

The Sergeant had been with General Thomas since he was assigned command of JSOC. He was also part of the Intelligence Network of the Magical Congress of the United States of America. As assistant to the General he had the ability to monitor the special operations conducted by the United States and warn when potential discovery of the secretive wizarding world was imminent.

"You heard correctly, General," the Major said without a hint of amusement. There was a General murmur around the table and Loren continued. "I was in my office when there was a loud pop. I looked up and there were two very strangely dressed men standing with Commander Ansen. They told me they were with the Ministry of Magic, which I can only assume is a form of government specific to the wizarding community. They told me of the stand-off at the castle, called Hogwarts. Apparently it's a rather prestigious school. They asked me to assist them in defusing the situation without violence. We were teleported from my office to the castle…" The Major's voice droned on as he continued his retelling with the rapt attention of everyone at the table, save the General's aide.

Sergeant Woods, who had been the General's aide for a very long time, bit his lip. This was bad. The Ministry in Britain was among the strongest wizarding governments out there. MACUSA couldn't hold much of a candle, and the Brits made it a point now and then to rub their noses in it. The American magical community still hadn't recovered from the devastating losses during the witch trials. MACUSA had, at best, a tenuous grip on the United States magical community. While it technically controlled America, the wizarding communities were poorly protected and magical creatures ran with near impunity. Vampire and werewolf gangs were of particular threat and most of the MACUSA Auror department was devoted to preventing knowledge of magic from being leaked to the muggles. The muggle military finding out in the wrong way could be the end of the magical community in the United States, or perhaps the world.

"Captain, Major," the General started, "this is obviously a lot to take in." He looked at Sumner, who stared directly back.

"I have three more operators you can talk to if you want," Sumner said completely serious.

"I am not discounting you two. You both have a long and distinguished service record. I don't get the impression either of you are ready to throw away your career and spend a long time in a dark hole for a prank." The General eyed them both. If this were an elaborate joke of some sort, it was not going to end well.

"Sir," the Major got to the crux of the issue in his opinion, "when they agreed not to debrief us, it was because we were quote 'an American problem.'" He let that sentence hang for a moment, letting the staff around the table reach their own conclusions.

"That implies that there is a Ministry in the United States then," the General said. Woods' heart sank at those words. "The question is, are they friend or foe." Woods looked up at the General.

"That's my question, Sir," the Major said. "We have no idea their intention. We should find them and open a dialogue. If they're anything like what we saw in Britain, it might be beneficial to be in contact."

Woods couldn't believe his ears. Muggles had not been tolerant of magical society in generations. In fact, much of magical society is based on that fact. He hadn't even considered that the muggles might be tolerant.

"I agree. We need to find out the extent of the magical community in the United States, and determine its impact on America," the General said, sealing the official position. "Major, do you have any idea how to contact the United States Ministry?" The Major shook his head negative.

"No clue, Sir." He paused a moment, searching his brain. Woods considered the impact this could have. JSOC was a secretive organization in every right. Handled correctly, this contact could be beneficial for both the muggles and the wizarding community. Coming out of hiding to JSOC didn't necessarily mean all muggles knowing, and MACUSA could use the help, he'd heard rumors of a possible outreach to the muggles for assistance. "Perhaps I can contact Commander Ansen in the UK. He might know a way."

"Get on it," the General ordered, then looked around the table. "Any question? Concerns? If you have them, now is the time." He eyed each in turn. None of them brought anything up. "Dismissed." He stood and the rest of them followed, getting back to their individual assignments. Woods checked in with General Thomas, and left immediately to contact MACUSA.

* * *

Less than an hour after the meeting in Fort Bragg, Sergeant John Woods was standing in the foyer of the Woolworth Building in downtown New York City, awaiting his meeting with the leaders of Magical America. It was a massive building, over a hundred stories both above and below ground. As the center of the Magical Congress of the United States of America, it was the busiest magical building in the United States.

That wasn't saying much, however. The witch trials of the 1700s had cost the magical community of America dearly. The executions, made famous in Salem, were largely attempts by religious leadership to seal their dominance. A community of muggles hunted witches and wizards well into the 1800s, fighting a shadow war with magical kind. It wasn't until the discovery that these muggles were being assisted by a few turncoat wizards in highly placed government positions that the losses stopped. The damage had been done however, and even now, magical America was not as strong as it once had been. Its population was still relatively sparse and spread out when compared to places like Britain.

This caused MACUSA to experience a rather unique problem. The smaller population caused a short supply of willing and capable Aurors. The shortage caused a lapse in governmental control of the region, sparking a significant increase in dark creatures inhabiting the area without restriction. As the magical population rose again and the Auror ranks increased, werewolf packs, vampire nests, and all manner of dark creatures banded together into large gangs.

Many of these gangs were still around today. The Auror department was not strong enough to break them. In fact, the primary focus of American Aurors was not the defeat of these foes, but maintaining the Statute of Secrecy. Attacks by werewolves and vampires were more common in the United States than any other country, and the Aurors had their hands full trying to prevent that fact from leaking out into muggle knowledge.

"Informer Woods, the Congress is ready for you," a kindly receptionist interrupted his introspection. This meeting promised to be interesting to say the least, but could prove to be exactly what the magical community needed. Woods rose and followed her to an elevator and stepped inside. She placed the tip of her wand on a small marble square outside the elevator. Security had been tighter since they began using the Woolworth Building, and the only way to access certain floors was to get someone with the necessary clearance to tell the elevator to go there.

She issued the necessary nonverbal spell, and the elevator shot up toward the top floor. Woods' knees almost buckled at the rapid increase in speed. It had been a long time since he'd traveled in a magical elevator. A moment later, the elevator came to a sudden stop, and he was launched almost a foot and a half into the air. He was prepared by then, and landed with some degree of dignity.

"Wand, sir," a security officer at a desk outside the elevator said lazily, obviously more interested in what he was reading. Woods stepped forward and gave the officer his wand, noting that the officer was selecting a fantasy Quidditch team. "You'll get it on your way out," he said, looking up only briefly.

"Right," Woods said, then continued on. He opened a door adorned with the seal of the magical congress. He sat at the only empty seat at the table. The entire Congress was here, along with the President.

"Informer Woods," the President greeted as he sat. "Has the muggle military discovered us?" MACUSA had several Informers throughout the muggle government, watching for any sign that the muggles might be about to discover the secretive community. As busy as the Magical Congress was on a daily basis with trying to manage the ever-present problem with dark creatures, an Informer had the power to call or interrupt a meeting at any time due to the significance of a breach.

"The last thing we need is a problem with the muggles, what with the situation in the Appalachians. The giants are problem enough," Senator Nithercott sighed.

"There is a situation," Woods started, and saw the anxiety level in each of the men in the room rise. "However, it may be an opportunity and not a crisis." There was a look of General confusion.

"Please explain," President Christopher Harris stated flatly. There was already much to deal with, and adding muggle military would be an unmitigated disaster. Woods explained the entire meeting in the JSOC headquarters, especially their interest in opening a dialogue.

"You must have been discovered, tricked," Senator Davis said as Woods finished. "They're trying to draw us out."

"I don't believe so," Woods said. "I work in a highly secret military headquarters. If they suspected that I was not exactly who I say they would immediately detain and interrogate me. Releasing me, even to follow me, is simply not how they operate. They would be more interested in what information could have been released." Woods' explanation seemed to placate the Senator, but only just.

"So you would have me believe that these muggle soldiers are interested in talking, and perhaps cooperating on an official level with us?" Harris asked, trying to state it as simply as possible. "You know well what happened the last time muggles knew for certain that magic existed. The Statute of Secrecy has been of paramount importance for generations for this very reason."

"I know, Sir," Woods replied, having decided long ago that he did not believe General Thomas to be that kind of man. They had worked together for several years, and the General was not one to mince words. If he intended to attack, his orders would have reflected that already. "I feel confident that, handled correctly, we could work with JSOC, the muggle organization I work for. And they could help us." There was a period of silence as the members of the Congress considered it.

"What do you mean? How could they help us, and why would they?" It was Senator Maxon this time.

"They are not just any soldiers, they are the best that the muggle military has to offer. They could help us get rid of the gangs." Woods paused for a moment, to let them consider it, before continuing. "They are experienced fighters and they have the manpower to make the difference in our struggle against the gangs. We could help them, assist them in their struggles with our magic. In return they can help us defeat the gangs, which helps the muggles as well." There was a long silence as each of them thought about it, all eyes eventually turning to the President.

"You're asking a lot," he said simply. "You are certain about them?" He couldn't argue that they could use the help, and more than once it had been offered by the muggle President during various meetings. His primary directive was upholding the international statute, but as time went on the international community still wasn't helping. Working directly with a faction of the muggle government would be a serious offense in the eyes of the international community, but without assistance from them the words of the muggle President sounded more and more attractive.

Adding more appeal to the offer of assistance by the muggle President, it could set in motion the end of the gang plague that had occurred since the 1800's, cementing his re-election. Woods nodded in answer and the President sighed. "I agree to a meeting. Gentlemen?"

He looked around the room. Now that he had projected his own opinion, it was easier for those considering it to speak out. After a few moments, each of the members had confirmed it.

"Make contact with this General Thomas and set up a meeting. If they try to arrest you, apparate and we will attempt to wipe their memories," the President said. "Be careful. This must be handled delicately."

"Of course." Woods stood and left, off to set up a meeting that would change magical America. The only question, would it be for better or worse?

* * *

Lieutenant General Raymond Thomas read the latest report from Major Loren. Commander Ansen apparently had no idea what Loren was talking about when asked about the Ministry of Magic. Further investigation showed that Ansen had no memory of any situation at a castle either. Major Loren tried to play it off as a joke, with minimal success, and hung up.

The General sighed and tossed the report onto his desk. Learning of a magical community was disconcerting to say the least. The idea of a shadow community living in the United States didn't seem possible, but he had known Major Loren for longer than he cared to admit, lest it give away his age, and the Major was not a bullshitter. If he said there was magic then Thomas took it at face value. He began to stand up, deciding this was a problem for tomorrow, when there was a knock at the door.

"Sir, it's Sergeant Woods," a familiar voice called. The Sergeant had been his aide since he took command of JSOC, many years ago, and had done a stellar job so far. The man seemed to know exactly what was needed and when.

"Come in," he said simply, letting himself drop back into the chair. Woods walked in and saluted sharply. "Have a seat" the General responded, gesturing at a chair in front of his desk. Woods sat and stared at Thomas for a moment before opening his mouth.

"Sir, we have worked together for a long time now," he started. Thomas nodded slightly, already not liking the direction of this conversation. If Woods was about to ask for a professional favor, it was going to be a bad time indeed. "I would like to think that you trust me." Woods waited patiently for a response.

"Cut to the chase, son," Thomas said curtly.

"I was present for the meeting earlier. About wizards," Woods said. Thomas sat a little straighter. This was not where he expected the conversation to go. "I know firsthand that the Major and Captain Sumner are telling the truth. I know this because I am a wizard." The General felt his jaw drop slightly and immediately closed it. "I am Informer John Woods of the Magical Congress of the United States of America." The General fought the urge to call in an MP and have the man arrested. _Informer? What exactly has he been leaking?_

"Son, you had better get to explaining. What have you been 'informing' and to whom?" General Thomas did not sound particularly agreeable, but Woods knew that it was now or never.

"I am tasked with keeping the Statute of Secrecy upheld, and ensuring that the military does not come across a magical community. Thus far, I have never had need to act," he explained, placating Thomas' immediate concern. "You expressed interest in making contact with the magical government, and I am here to set up that meeting."

"I see." General Thomas was not sure how to proceed. He hadn't expected to make contact so quickly, and he had expected to be the one initiating the contact. "Major Loren, Captain Sumner, Master Sergeant Wheeler and myself will meet with-" he paused, not sure what to call their leadership.

"- President Harris and the rest of the magical congress," Woods finished for the General. "We would appreciate you meeting at our location. We have not made contact with muggles in a very long time, and I'm sure you can understand our…" he searched for the right word, "nervousness."

"Muggles?" the General asked, considering the request Woods made.

"Sorry, Sir, a muggle is someone who, like yourself, does not possess magic," he replied. "As for our request?"

The General chewed the inside of his cheek while he thought a moment, a habit he picked up when he quit chewing tobacco. Long ago he'd learned that meeting halfway built a lot of goodwill. He wasn't convinced of the benevolence of wizards, but he wanted to get to the bottom of it in a way that benefited everyone. "We will meet at your location, but I will tell Colonel Spicer about it and he will have a unit ready to respond if we are not back in one piece within twenty-four hours." The General didn't have to complete the threat. A response by the strike team would be deadly.

"Agreed," Woods replied almost immediately. "We are ready to go as soon as you are, General. And thank you, Sir, for approaching us with an open mind." The General simply grunted and stepped outside and ordered the MP to get Colonel Spicer.

"I'll gather everyone and brief them. We will meet here in an hour," The General told Woods, dismissing him. After Woods left, Thomas sat back down at his desk. He needed to call his men together for a meeting that promised to be one of the most interesting of his career.


	5. Birth of a Task Force

AN – Prior to this point I had not realized the extent of cannon information about MACUSA and magic in the United States. This being an AU story, I have changed a lot to better suit my story.

* * *

"Sir," Major Loren said as he walked into General Thomas' office, Captain Sumner and Master Sergeant Wheeler close in tow, "you made contact?"

Major Loren was frustrated after his call to Commander Ansen at UKSF, which was as close to a disaster as could be. The Commander apparently had no memory of the entire incident, and Major Loren wound up sounding like a lunatic. He attempted to play it off as a joke call, a ribbing between allies. However, if Commander Ansen knew anything at all about the Major, it would be that he was a straight shooter and such a prank would be completely out of character. Thankfully, the Commander did not.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," General Thomas replied. He waited for each of the men to enter his office before gesturing toward a man seated in the corner. "You all remember Sergeant Woods? He has been my aide since I took command of JSOC." Woods gave the men a nod of acknowledgement, but otherwise remained silent.

"I seem to recall that, yes," Major Loren said. He wasn't sure where the General was going with this, but opted against asking.

"Come to find out," the General was staring at Woods with a look that wasn't particularly friendly, though not quite hostile either, "Sergeant Woods here holds a second title. What was it again?" He remembered, but wasn't quite over the petty feeling of betrayal he felt at the moment. He knew logically that this magical community would need information if they expected to stay secret, and the fact that he reported only to another United States government did soften the blow, but only just. It still just didn't sit well with him, not yet.

"Informer. For the Magical Congress of the United States of America," Woods replied matter-of-factly. On the outside, he appeared calm and collected. The very picture of a man revealing exactly what he wished, in exactly the manner he wished. Inside, however, he was racked with fear. He had been living as a muggle longer than many wizards even in the ranks of the Informers. Still, revealing oneself as a wizard is not something often done, and never lightly.

"Informer?" Captain Sumner beat the rest of them to the punch, though each had the same question running through their mind. "You've been spying?"

"In a way," Woods looked to the General for support, but found that he still looked irritated. "My job is to ensure that muggles, non-magic folk, do not stumble upon our society. This command has yet to make any foray into magical territory, so I have not had to relay anything."

"Why are you revealing this now?" Major Loren asked. If this man was sent to spy on JSOC for this, Magical Congress, then why would he reveal it?

"I was present in the meeting earlier," Woods said, and a look of understanding dawned on the Major's face.

"You know we are trying to make contact then," the Major finished for Woods. Woods nodded in reply, and General Thomas cut in.

"They would like to meet. I have already informed Colonel Spicer, and he has a pair of SEAL platoons on stand-by. I am bringing you three with me to the meet, and if we do not return, whole," he said to Woods with a pointed look, then turned back to the soldiers before him, "within twenty-four hours, he will send the strike team." The three men nodded.

"When do we leave?" Master Sergeant Wheeler asked, having been completely quiet until now. Woods beat the General to respond.

"We can leave as soon as you're ready," Woods said, standing from his chair. "I believe you three are familiar with apparition?" Having heard in the briefing about the "teleportation" from Hogwarts to the airfield, Woods made the assumption.

"Yes," Major Loren said. Turning to the General, "Sir, it's a rather uncomfortable transport, but I can't argue with its efficiency." Loren remembered the rather unpleasant feeling. It felt like he was being squeezed through a straw, and it was enough to make him look twice at small spaces now.

"If you would kindly," Woods held his hands out to the men in the room. The General looked at him, confused for a moment. The Major, Captain and Sergeant all stepped forward with a look of distaste and linked hands. "In order to apparate with you, I will need to be touching you. Please, whatever you feel, do not let go. I wouldn't want to leave anything behind."

Great. The thought of leaving part of his body behind did not do anything to ease his concerns as he grabbed the outstretched hand. Woods closed his eyes and began to twist his body rapidly. In a split second, General Thomas felt something jerk his navel and suddenly felt as though someone were squeezing him into a small bottle. The feeling only lasted a moment, and the relief was immense when it was over. He let go of Woods hand as soon as the pressure let up, though it took him a second to realize he no longer stood in his office.

"Welcome to the Woolworth Building," Woods indicated the room they stood in. "Home of the Magical Congress."

"I've been inside the Woolworth Building before," General Thomas said, not recognizing his surroundings. They were in a large, nearly empty foyer. As he looked up, he noticed that he couldn't see the ceiling. It simply disappeared into darkness, though there appeared to be sufficient lighting produced by floating orbs that weren't connected to anything he could see. The floors were a glossy granite, and the walls lined with columns of marble reminiscent of ancient Greece. There were empty benches every so often between the columns, and a large fountain in the middle of the room that seemed to be sprouting water from thin air. "This is definitely NOT the Woolworth Building," he thought.

"Muggles cannot normally access this building," Woods said cryptically, before deciding that he should fully explain as he walked toward reception, with the four muggles in tow. "The Woolworth Building is an impressive structure in muggle standards, as well as wizarding. You see, if you were to walk into the front door, you would see what every other muggle would see. However, if you pet the owls head on the statue outside the front door, you will walk into the magical building."

"Every so-often, we get a muggle child in that has an affinity for owls.," the receptionist said. She always found their awe at the fountain amusing. Muggles were so easily entertained.

"Rhonda, it is wonderful to see you again," Woods said, laying on his charm. He was extremely nervous about bringing muggle soldiers into the headquarters of Magical America, and a little flirtation could help calm the nerves. She smiled at him and then the guests.

"So good to have you here." She stood, flattened her skirt, and started toward the elevator banks. General Thomas saw her produce a small stick as they got close. She tapped it against an off-color marble brick on the wall near the elevator doors. The doors slid open and the group stepped in. The receptionist faced them with a smile. "This will take you to the meeting floor."

Woods stepped inside, and the rest of the men followed. The floor of the elevator was soft like a cushion, and Thomas almost lost his balance when he first stepped on. It was also much taller than any elevator he had been in before. It must have been ten feet to the ceiling, and there were large rails in a square in the center.

"Ah," Woods said, almost as an afterthought. He had never brought muggles onto an elevator before. "You'll want a tight grip on the rails there." The men grabbed the rail and Woods smiled at Rhonda, signaling their readiness. She tapped the square with her small stick again and the doors closed.

The moment they finished closing, General Thomas' knees buckled from under him as the elevator shot upward at speeds he was not expecting. Thankful for the cushioned floor, he pulled himself up, fighting against the gravity being exerted against him. Major Loren was gripping the rail tightly, looking as though he may also collapse at any moment, and both of the Delta operators wore grins that spoke volumes about what their idea of a good time was. Just as the General got to his feet, the elevator abruptly stopped. The General was launched into the air along with the other men, though his grip on the rail saved him from going too high. To his surprise, after he reached the apex of the flight, his decent was much slower than he expected and he didn't come crashing to the ground. He was able to land gracefully on his feet and step out of the elevator.

"A little warning next time," the General said brusquely, brushing the slight wrinkles out of his uniform, "would be completely welcome." Woods nodded, doing his very best to keep the amusement off of his face. He led them to a desk occupied by a single man. The General noted the man wore a badge on his chest, and assumed he was security. He was not impressed, however, by the lack of attention paid by the officer. Nose deep in a newspaper, the man had not even looked to see who stepped off the elevator. Woe to the MP that General Thomas found in such a manner.

"Wands here," the man said, not taking a break from his paper. Woods placed a stick similar to the one held by the receptionist downstairs on the desk. The officer grabbed it off of the desk without taking his eyes off the paper. "Pick it up on the way out. They're ready for you."

"Hmph," General Thomas grunted in disgust at the security officer. It went unnoticed by the man, who was fully enthralled by his newspaper again. Woods grabbed the General's arm and lead him toward the hall, whispering underneath his breath.

"He's a little unorthodox looking, but he has never failed at stopping a threat." Woods' explanation shed some light but the General was a little more old school. Looking the part was an effective deterrent and that officer did not look the part.

"Right this way." Woods led them toward a set of double doors adorned with a seal that the General had never seen before. It was a rather sharp looking eagle with an artistically different American flag draped down its front with the words "Magical Congress of the United States of America" around the rim. The doors opened, and they found themselves inside a large conference room. There was a massive table in the middle of the room with the same seal in its center. There were thirteen men seated around the table, six to a side with one at the far end, and five empty chairs on the side closest to him.

"Welcome," the man at the end of the table said as they entered, as he stood. "I am President Harris." He gestured toward the empty chairs. "Please, make yourselves comfortable." The men all sat down, and President Harris finally sat again.

"I am Lieutenant General Thomas, Commander of the Joint Special Operations Command. This is Major Loren, Captain Sumner, and Master Sergeant Wheeler." The General indicated each of them in turn. "I am here to get an understanding of who you people are and what your intentions are. You can imagine my surprise to learn there is a secret government and population in my country, and a spy in my command." He spoke, never taking his eyes off of the President's. There was a small ripple of shock through the members of Congress, though the President himself remained passive. It was not often a politician was spoken to in such a direct manner, with such little ceremony.

"Of course," President Harris said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Please, let me put your mind at ease. Informer Harris has never contacted us until today. While we are of the magical government, we are still citizens of America, and would not dream of putting our great country at risk by stealing information or compromising the military in any way." While it did not completely ease the General's mind, it was a start.

"I see," General Thomas said flatly. "I am led to believe that there are other Informers, throughout the…" he tried to remember the strange word Woods kept using, "muddle government?"

"It's muggle, my good man," the President said with a soft smile, knowing this must be a lot for him to take in, "and yes, there are other Informers. However, I assure you we are in no way undermining the muggle government. We are simply attempting to keep our existence a secret from all muggles, no more or less," he finished gravely.

"If you're so insistent on secrecy, then why are you talking to me?" General Thomas asked. The President had to admire the directness, it was not something he was used to dealing with, but he rather liked it.

"Perhaps a short history lesson would help you understand," the President said, drumming his fingers on the table thoughtfully. "The witch trials were a particularly rough time for wizard-kind in America. While it's common knowledge that many executions were political, there was something of a shadow war fought against the actual wizards and witches here. After a very costly war for magical America, we finally defeated these exterminators. The damage was extreme, though, and we had very little population remaining. That population was spread thin across the United States and there were hardly enough people to keep the government functioning. We managed, but our Auror department was spread thin."

"Auror?" the General interrupted before Harris could continue.

"Ah, forgive me. I forget that you do not already know some of these things. Aurors are much like your police. The enforcers of our laws." General Thomas nodded in understanding and gestured for Harris to continue. "Unfortunately, word spread across the world at our losses. Dark creatures of every type fled to America, fleeing the governments that could afford to take action."

"I'm sorry, dark creatures?" General Thomas didn't know what dark creatures were, but they didn't sound good, and he sure as hell did not like the sound of them flocking to the United States.

"My apologies. Vampires, werewolves, dementors, there really are quite a lot. I'm sure I can get a book or something for you." The General's jaw dropped slightly. Vampires are real? Werewolves?

"I don't mean to interrupt, but werewolves and vampires? What is the current condition?" Major Loren beat the General, who was planning on asking the same question. President Harris smiled nervously before responding.

"You see, we barely had enough people to staff a police force. Our population has increased, but the dark creatures have banded together. I am ashamed to admit that there are gangs of werewolves and vampires that are stronger than our Auror department can handle. They were ahead of us for so long that we simply have not been able to recover. Our Aurors have their hands full trying to prevent deaths caused by these gangs from causing suspicion in the muggle population." Harris had done it, laid it out plainly for General Thomas and his men. They were silent for a moment before Thomas spoke.

"There are large gangs of these, dark creatures, out there right now. You are not able to control them completely, as your government has not recovered fully from its losses?" He asked, summarizing what he was told. This was not what he had expected to hear from the secretive government.

"Well, we have recovered rather well. There is now a strong population of witches and wizards. The dark creatures had too long to prepare, however, too long to organize themselves. They have their own territories and rarely fight each other, leaving each gang strong enough to defend itself well enough. My Aurors could likely wipe out a gang or two, but the losses would prevent us from being able to prevent large attacks as we do now," Harris replied. He was anxious to know how the General would respond.

"These dark creatures, they attack muggles as well then?" he asked. Harris nodded in the affirmative and Thomas sighed. "I see. It would appear you need a hand then. I cannot allow a threat like that to continue in the United States."

"I've spoken with the muggle President a number of times on the issue, keeping him in the loop you see. Until now, I hadn't believed his offers of support would be widely followed through, even if he commanded it. As it stands, assistance would be most welcome, and we are prepared to help you as well," Harris started. "Informer Woods has informed me that your muggles are excellent fighters. With your help, I believe we can end the reign of these gangs. We are prepared to pay," Harris saw a twist of anger at the mention of payment. Woods had mentioned that career military officers did not like to be compared to mercenaries. "For expenses, of course, along with whatever assistance we can offer your command. I understand magical healing and transportation among other things could be very useful." Harris successfully placated the General, who initially though Harris wanted to turn JSOC into hired thugs.

"You've spoken to the President on these matters before?" the General asked. He was prepared to offer a preliminary deal to the magical government if they were on the straight and narrow. One of the perks of clandestine operations. Any truly meaningful support had to go through the President eventually and his being previously briefed would make securing a program that much easier…if things got to that point.

"Of course, we try to keep the muggle heads of state informed to an extent," came the reply. The General nodded.

"Before we get much further, I would like to see some of this magic. Aurors, your government…" the General paused a moment. "I want to know more about who I am dealing with." Major Loren nodded his agreement.

"Of course," Harris said, standing up. "Perhaps you would like a tour?" The four muggles stood. "This building would take days to fully explore, but I am certain a tour of the Aurors Office would answer any concerns you might have."

"After you," the General gestured toward the door. President Harris started toward the door, followed by Woods. Noticing that none of the members of the Congress stood, the General turned to his companions. "Major, Master Sergeant, please stay here. Major, continue talking to these gentlemen, learn a little more about the government." The Major nodded and with that, General Thomas and Captain Sumner followed their hosts.

After a brief and equally terrifying trip down the elevator, they arrived at Sub-Level 46. When the doors opened, General Thomas saw a small foyer with a security desk. The desk had a star shaped badge with the word Auror through it, and behind the desk was a much more professional looking officer. He was cleanly shaven, his navy blue suit neatly pressed. On his chest was a badge that mimicked the one adorning his desk. He stood immediately on seeing the President and snapped his arms to his sides.

"President Harris, to what do we owe the pleasure?" He looked at the incoming men and a brief look of surprise crossed his eyes at the sight of muggles in military uniforms. General Thomas was impressed by his professionalism, as the look would have been easily missed by eyes not accustomed to soaking in every detail.

"Auror Smith, I see you're on light duty again," the President said cheerfully, with a familiarity that the General had not expected.

"Yes, sir," he said relaxing slightly. "Another Bigfoot dispute. They really are particular about their trees. I took a good sized branch to the knee," he said as the President listened raptly. General Thomas was still trying to wrap his head around Sasquatch existing. There was a lot to learn it seemed. "Healers say I should be back in the field by next week, not to worry."

"I'm glad to hear it," President Harris said, turning to his companions. "This is Informer Woods, General Thomas and Captain Sumner. They are guests from the muggle military, here to inspect our Auror office." Both muggles nodded in greeting at the mention of their name.

"Sirs," the Auror straightened again in what looked like their version of attention. "I'm confident you will find everything in order." He flicked his wrist with practiced precision and a stick much like the one Woods and the receptionist, Rhonda, possessed shot from his sleeve into his hand. He tapped it against the corner of the desk, and the double doors ahead of them opened into a very busy office.

"Thank you, Smith." The President walked in, followed closely by the trio. General Thomas had never seen a law enforcement office quite like this. It was absolutely bustling, small paper airplanes were flying about, landing on desks and opening neatly, and men dressed just as sharply as the one outside were talking loudly about their cases. In the distance, a pair of what he identified as Aurors escorted a pale man bound tightly in ropes from his shoulders to his waist.

"Ah," President Harris gestured toward the bound man. "It looks like we finally captured Count Draconis, Junior," he said with pleasure that was lost on the two muggles present. When they didn't respond, he looked over and saw the confusion. "Of course, you don't know him. Count Draconis was one of the Major lords of a local vampire nest. When he was killed in a fight with a werewolf pack from New Jersey his son took over. Arresting him," he gestured toward the prisoner, "is a significant victory. Without leadership, the nest will likely break apart and we should be able to eliminate it completely."

"That sounds like good news," General Thomas said.

"Very good news," a voice responded close behind the group, startling the General. He turned rapidly to see an older man dressed every bit as sharply as the Aurors around him. His badge however had a wreath around it.

"Master Auror Richards," President Harris enthusiastically greeted the newcomer. "This is General Thomas of JSOC, in the muggle military. Captain Sumner here as well," the President added, not wanting the man feeling left out. "General, this is Master Auror Richards. He oversees the entire Auror department."

"Just the man I'm looking for then." General Thomas extended a hand. It wouldn't hurt to be polite. They shook and the Master Auror indicated an office near the other end of the bustling room.

"Let's head to my office, we will have an easier time talking there." He led the way. His office impressed General Thomas, as it was no larger or better than any other single office he could see. It appeared the Master Auror didn't let the title go to his head. Thomas could respect that. The room was a little cramped with the four guests, but they made it work. "What can I do for you?" he asked the General.

"I would like to hear more about these…" he paused a moment. "Mr. President, perhaps you and Woods could show Captain Sumner the rest of the Auror office?" The President looked at the General for a moment, unsure at the request, before Sumner spoke.

"I'd like to get a look at the prisoner holding," he said, "do you have more than a vampire there? And what kind of weapons do you use?" The President seemed convinced by the interest shown and moments later, it was just General Thomas and Master Auror Richards in the office.

"I take it you wanted to talk alone?" Richards asked, more perceptive than Thomas had given him credit for.

"Forgive my bluntness, but I don't want you taking cues from the President," General Thomas replied. Richards smiled.

"I can't fault that. Ask away, General." He sat back in his chair, his pose relaxed, as though he was being interviewed for a school book report and not by a military officer.

"Tell me more about the situation with these dark creatures. I want to know more in the line of numbers, spread, threats, that kind of thing. And I want to know what your office does to curb the threat." The Auror thought for a moment and replied.

"The dark creatures that threaten the United States number in the thousands. We don't have an accurate way to track it, but I'd wager that each state probably holds two or three werewolf packs and two or three vampire nests. There are others as well. Dementors, Red Caps... I can give you a written report, updated as of the beginning of the month with better figures. It's not one hundred percent accurate, but it's what we've got," he finished.

"A report would be fantastic, and if you have something describing what each dark creature is. Most of these are new to me." The General had never heard of a dementor or red cap, but he was determined to learn. "What about your office? How do you handle these threats?"

"Divide and conquer as best we can. The packs and nests are not small, and destroying one completely is difficult for us at best. We just can't handle a fight of attrition. This headquarters is the headquarters for the nation. We have about three hundred Aurors total, for the United States. It's more than we used to have, but not nearly enough to go wiping out nests. So we find small ones, or ones that just lost a fight. Go after them." He paused. "It's not that we don't want to eliminate them, we just don't have the manpower. We spend most of our time trying to cover up attacks on muggles, keeping word from getting out."

"That's about what I expected to hear." The General stood, hearing what he needed. "With any luck, you'll be getting some support soon." He liked the Auror, the man was pretty obviously the kind to "handle shit" as the General often put it. He genuinely hoped that things would work out, not just for his sake but for that of the nation. They shook hands and Thomas left. He saw Sumner and the President leaving a holding area and rejoined the group, on its way to a practice range.

"General," Sumner greeted as they continued toward the range. "There were some pretty impressive creatures out there." He didn't say it in so many words, but they were going to have their work cut out to clear the US of these things. After a short walk, they found themselves in an arena of sorts.

"Woods, would you be so kind?" the President asked, gesturing toward the room. There were several lanes, each with a small raised platform at either end. Woods went and talked to an Auror, and after a moment they each got onto a stand facing each other. They bowed, and each pulled out a small stick. Without further warning, they began shouting incomprehensible words and waiving their sticks at each other. Lights of all different color shot at them, and after what appeared a close battle, Woods was struck in the chest by a red light and launched off the platform. He crumpled to the ground in a heap, but was quick to pick himself up.

"Didn't expect to win against an Auror," he said grinning widely, "but that went better than I'd thought!"

"Perhaps you could explain what just happened?" General Thomas asked. President Harris stepped close, producing a stick of his own.

"This here is a wand. It is how a witch or wizard channels their magic. Each incantation produces a specific spell in conjunction with the correct wand movement. What you saw was a battle using wands and magic. Aurors are especially good at magical battle." The President allowed the General to inspect the wand. When he was satisfied, he handed it back and the President put it away.

"Let's go back upstairs and talk terms," the General suggested. He was satisfied that the magical government needed his help, and could in turn help his people. It was another trip in that wretched elevator and a short walk until they were again around the conference table. A brief check in, and Thomas determined that Major Loren was satisfied with his interview of the congress.

* * *

"Mr. President, I can see you need some manpower. I have a lot of firepower at my disposal, and I have a lot of ability to act in secret, without the higher-ups in my government knowing much. They love their plausible deniability." He didn't like the politicians, but they at least knew to give him the leeway to get the job done, even if they used that same leeway as rope to hang him if word got out. With permission of the President, the _muggle_ President, he would have the authority he needed to do what needed done. He had a massive budget, he had the manpower and he had the knowledge of what to do with it. He just needed the politicians to not ask questions. "What do you have to make this worth both our whiles?" With that, the conversation was launched to hash out an agreement.

It had taken several days of learning new details about each other, finding the weaknesses and strengths both magical and muggle, but finally a tentative agreement had been reached. The muggle President gave permission for a joint operation, though in true political form, the President didn't want to know any more than that. Now, General Thomas and President Harris sat at the familiar conference table, both reading a copy of the agreement they had made. They wanted to ensure everything was set before signing.

 _Recognizing that the Magical Congress of the United States of America ,hereafter called MACUSA, is an official branch of United States Government, governing an American population, the Joint Special Operations Command ,hereafter called JSOC, and by extention select members of muggle government on an as needed basis, is prepared to assist in the removal of threats, both foreign and domestic, to the population of the United States._

 _With all available assistance from MACUSA, JSOC will create a task force joining magic and muggle into a cohesive fighting force, with the intention to clear from United States soil, any threat to the public. MACUSA will provide funding, research, magical and technical assistance in the creation of this task force. JSOC will provide whatever other funding is necessary, along with the manpower and fighting experience to carry out this objective._

 _After completion of this initial mission, the task force will be considered a permanent fighting force to be used as necessary to protect both magical and muggle populations from threats, both foreign and domestic. Recognizing that the International Statute of Secrecy is to be upheld in all circumstances, MACUSA officially recognizes the upper command of JSOC and any member of the task force, to be named, as a department of MACUSA, with all of the authorities and restrictions entailed. JSOC too recognizes the International Statute of Secrecy, and will uphold the Statute with all necessary vigor to uphold international law._

 _The completion of the task force is to be considered a top priority for both parties, and all effort should be made to ensure cooperation and smooth transition into a functional force._

 _Signed_

 _General Raymond Thomas_ _President Christopher Harris_

Both men signed neatly at the bottom then they parted ways. Each had a tremendous amount of work ahead of them to get this task force ready, and the coming months would be a flurry of activity the likes of which had not been seen since the last Major war. Research programs started with a vigor that many muggle scientists and research wizards were not used to, and with funding they had only dreamed of since their formative college years.

* * *

It had been a long year for everyone at JSOC, and it was no different for General Thomas. He looked himself over in the mirror one last time before he headed to the next project meeting in his long list. He was definitely seeing more grey hair, and he had lost a belt loop in weight since they began work on this task force.

Task Force Ansible, he thought to himself as he straightened his dress jacket and headed toward the meeting. A year of hectic work so far, and they were nearing completion. MACUSA had held up their end of the agreement in its entirety. They had received significant funding and assistance in research. Progress on many weapons programs and other projects went significantly faster than he had dreamed possible. He had selected a number of excellent operators for Task Force Ansible, but if the tone of his phone call had been any indication, Dr. Handover had bad news on that account and this meeting would not bear good news.

Dr. Michael Handover was a world class geneticist who, with the help of a pair of research wizards, had identified the genetic markers necessary to witness much of magic. As it turned out, there was a lot about magic that left muggles at a disadvantage. Certain creatures, such as dementors, could not be seen at all by muggles. That would be an incredible problem if muggles were expected to fight them.

The initial response had been to place a wizard in each squad, but that idea was rapidly scrapped. The loss of that wizard would cripple the entire squad, and that wasn't something he was willing to allow. It had been a significant problem, until Dr. Handover had completed his research on witch and wizard blood.

The discovery of genetic markers in their blood was a significant ray of hope for the task force. If they could be given genetic therapy and see these threats, perhaps even manipulate magic themselves, they would be a true force to be reckoned with.

"General," Dr. Handover stood as Thomas entered the room. They both sat and Handover went straight into his report. "I am afraid I have mixed news for you. The genetic therapy works. It is incredible, but we have developed a series of inoculations that will allow you to see magic in its entirety, the same as any witch or wizard."

"That's great news," General Thomas replied. He had met many scientists like Handover, and knew that stroking the man's ego was a surefire way into better results.

"Yes, quite," he said, allowing himself a small smile, though he quickly sobered. "Unfortunately, it does not allow the user to actually perform magic in any way. We obviously have spent a lot on outfitting Ansible with magically enhanced weapons and equipment. That was for the better."

"Understood." The General sighed, thankful that it wasn't worse news. He was brought from his relief by Dr. Handover clearing his throat.

"There is more, Sir," he said. "It has a crippling success rate. It only works approximately six to eight percent of the time in adults." The Generals' eyebrows shot into his receding hairline. Six to eight percent?

"That is unacceptable, doctor," He said firmly. "We don't have enough personnel available to get a task force out of six to eight percent."

"Unfortunately," Handover replied, "it is a matter of our understanding of genetics and genetic therapy as a whole. The older you get, the more set in stone your genes are. Unless you have an army of children around, I don't see how we can increase that number." He hoped the joke would ease the blow. "You should know that Captain Sumner was a successful subject, along with one of the lab technicians that volunteered. That's all though. Colonel Spicer didn't pass."

"Send me the full evaluation, I'll look over it soon. Dismissed," the General said. Dr. Handover left, and the General thought to himself. An army of children? He didn't have children at his disposal, but he had the Spartans.

* * *

AN – I've looked into AFDIL and found that it is mostly for identification of soldiers. I understand that there are other methods that could be used to get an adult force of acceptable size, but that isn't the story I want to tell so I've set it up this way.


	6. Initiation

AN - I apologize for the delay getting this chapter posted, work was very busy. Feel free to drop a comment and let me know what you think.

* * *

Spartan Bradley Gordon gripped his rifle reflexively. The sixteen year old didn't look like a teenager. He was clad in much of the same gear his Delta Force instructors typically wore into battle. He wore a full multi-cam uniform, on top of which he had a tan Modular Lightweight Load-carrying Equipment, or MOLLE, vest. The vest was very basic, with standard slots for ceramic plates of armor. What made it special was its modular design. There were no pouches for carrying anything on the vest, instead there was a complex web of stitching allowing the customized placement of carrying pouches for grenades, ammunition, and other gear as the individual finds necessary for the mission.

Additionally, he wore a mid-cut ballistic helmet. The helmet was much more compact than the standard Enhanced Combat Helmet fielded by the U.S. Army. It didn't offer as much ballistic protection, but the nature of Special Forces operations made compact and lightweight gear a necessity. A slot along the forehead of the helmet held a Night Optic Device that could be snapped down in front of his eyes in an instant, allowing him to see much better in near black darkness. It was a tremendous combat advantage.

He knew his gear was not standard. Not for the regular army and not for the majority of Spartans. The Spartans had been trained as a special operations force since they were six and seven years old. Children from around the world who were orphaned by acts of terrorism were offered a chance to get revenge on terrorism. Each of them had volunteered for the training, though at their ages, none of them really knew what they were in for.

Every day was another brutal day of intense training of some kind. Always physical training of some kind, and then it varied. One day might be the rifle range, then next might be hand-to-hand combat, then military strategy, or perhaps weapons maintenance. The true constant is they were always one step behind the instructors, who seemed never to tire and always had just one more exercise planned.

At thirteen years old, Gordon was among thirty other Spartans that the instructors said showed a real promise. The command staff wanted to create a Special Forces team within the Spartans, and they were selected as the most promising group for the program. They were warned that the training would be much more difficult, that their lives would be hell. However, if they survived and passed the course, they would be tier one operators, the best of the best.

Special Mission Units of the U.S. Military were separated by tier. Tier Two units such as the Army Rangers were generally considered special operations units. They conducted a variety of special operations depending on specialization of the individual unit. Tier One units like Delta Force and SEAL Team Six were invitation only units that pulled from the ranks of the Tier Two forces. Selecting only the best individuals, with a training attrition rate of up to ninety percent, Tier One units were among the deadliest warriors in the world.

Now, Spartan Gordon and the seven others that formed Reaper Team stood in a small room, all in full battle gear. They were in what was considered their final exam. When ordered, they were to clear the kill house. Their kill house was actually a warehouse-sized structure inside Fort Bragg, and each time they entered, its design was different. The instructors went out of their way to design structures that favored the defender, challenging the Spartans to adapt and safely execute a raid even in the worst locations.

Each of the Spartans were nervous, they had spent the last three years working daily with instructors from Delta Force to hone themselves into the best soldiers they could be. It all came down to today. _No pressure._

"Reaper Team is go." They each heard the words over the radio implanted in their helmets, and without hesitating got to work. They each started timers on their watches and stacked up four deep on either side of the door, and Spartan Ryan Sanderson broke from his position in front of the other stack to plant a small charge along the door. He worked with expert precision and had the charge planted in what felt like record time. He went back to his position and starting from the back of each line, each squeezed the shoulder of the man in front of him, signaling that they were ready. Less than a minute after then initial order, they were ready to breach the door. Gordon gave the signal, and Sanderson lit the charge.

 _BANG!_ The blast was directed inward at the door and very little debris launched at the operators. Inside the room however, the shockwave of the charge and splinters of wood shot through the room. Its effect was shocking and very often, anyone unfortunate enough to be on the wrong side of a door charge did not recover in time to fight back.

Just after the blast, the team entered. As soon as Spartan Gordon cleared the doorway, his rifle was raised and ready to respond to any threat with deadly precision. He stepped just inside the room, and then shuffled along the wall to the right of the door. He had barely made it through the door before Sanderson was pushing through and heading to the left. The team filed in one after another, each one responsible for a specific section, or firing lane, of the room. Less than fifteen seconds had passed since the blast, and the entire team was in the room. There were no targets, but there was a door to either side of them.

"Clear!" Gordon shouted, and each of the men on his team shouted it as well. They were familiar with their tasks, and they stacked up four to a door. The same squeezing action was performed and the men poured through the doors. They moved quickly but deliberately, keeping their actions accurate and organized. _Speed, surprise, and violence of action._ Those three things were the key factors to a successful raid, and his Delta instructors had been beating it into his brain for the last three years.

Gordon was the first through his side, and again stepped to the right as he breached the room. In his lane, he saw Instructor Martinez being "held hostage" by a cardboard terrorist. The instructor's body blocked a clear shot, and the only shot he had was right past Martinez's head. He didn't hesitate, firing two shots rapidly. Both hit the center of the targets head, and he heard a pair of other shots before he heard his guys shout.

"Room clear!" They moved on to the next room, repeating the procedure room by room until the team regrouped. There was a single large room left with two doors, one on either side. The rest of the kill house had been cleared.

"Sanderson, take your guys to the far door." He looked at his watch. "At five minutes, toss a flashbang and clear. We will do the same from our door. Check fire lanes." They needed to be sure not to shoot each other. Sanderson and his fireteam went to the far door while Gordon's team stacked up. Gordon produced a flashbang and watched the timer on his watch as it counted down.

A flashbang was a stun grenade, useful in achieving an element of surprise during combat. It had a fuse that lasted just over a second, and on detonation, produced a flash that was just over one million candelas and the bang was one hundred and seventy decibels. A flashbang could overload the senses of whoever was unfortunate enough to be nearby, giving the attackers a precious time to seize the initiative before an effective defense could be mounted.

 _Five minutes._ The timer on his watch ticked over. He pulled the pin on the grenade and threw it around the doorway with practiced ease. The thrown arc left the grenade at about face level when it detonated in the room and as soon as it went off, the teams entered the room.

Gordon was the first through and he cleared sideways to the right. As the teams poured through they rapidly realized that everyone in the room was unarmed. They finished entering the room and made way to the three unarmed men in the center of the room. Gordon was the first to reach the center, and as he went to grab and detain the closest man to him, the man threw an elbow at him.

"Get on the ground!" Gordon shouted, blocking the elbow and throwing a vicious knee into the man's abdomen. His target collapsed to the ground and Gordon pulled the man's arms behind his back, securing him with flex-cuffs. Behind him, his team fought the others to the ground and tied them.

"Room clear!" Sanderson shouted. Gordon stood up and heaved the instructor with him. He looked at his watch. Just shy of six minutes. That was a pretty respectable time for sure. The lamps along the roof kicked on, and they uncuffed the instructors.

"Five minutes, forty three seconds." Colonel Matias called out, his voice sounded disappointed. Gordon felt his heart sink for a moment before the colonel continued in a more congratulatory voice. "Congratulations Reaper team, and welcome to Tier One!" All of the Spartans present cheered loudly and clapped. Senior Instructor Franklin, the one who tried to fight Gordon during the raid, clapped Gordon on the back.

"Next time, you'd better bring your A-game. That knee almost tickled." He gave a quick smile and then left with the rest of the instructors, walking _almost_ imperceptibly slower. The Spartans followed, with Colonel Matias behind them. They had barely made it outside, before they noticed a Major standing in full dress uniform.

"Attention!" Gordon shouted and his team snapped to attention.

"Major Loren," the Colonel greeted, "what can I do for you?" The colonel was not particularly familiar with Loren, but knew he was among the command staff at JSOC.

"Sir, you and the listed staff are ordered to report to HQ briefing room 2 in one hour," the major said with practiced formality. He handed Colonel Matias a paper and relaxed slightly. "General Thomas needs to speak with you." He turned and walked away, leaving a stunned colonel in his wake. _What does General Thomas need?_

* * *

An hour later, Colonel Matias, the three Senior Instructors, and Spartans Gordon, Mason, Jordan, and Price all sat at a conference table in JSOC Headquarters. The Spartans present all had positions of authority within the Spartan program. They were what passed for leadership among the Spartans, who had not yet been given official ranks.

There was a shuffle outside, and the conference room door opened. General Thomas entered, followed by Colonel Spicer and a man in a lab coat he didn't recognize. They all sat and the general looked them over.

"Thank you for coming gentlemen," the general started. "There is one purpose to this meeting. I need an honest, no-bullshit assessment Colonel."

"Sir?" Colonel Matias was proud of his Spartans. They had done a remarkable job and promised to be an extraordinary fighting force. _Was he about to lose funding? What would he do with these boys and girls?_

"Are your Spartans combat ready?" The general did not break eye contact. Even so, Matias knew he wasn't kidding. The Spartans still had three years of scheduled training before they were supposed to be considered ready for duty.

"Sir," Matias started, "The Spartans aren't slated to be-"

"I'm well aware of the original timetable," General Thomas said impatiently. "If the Spartans were thrust into a fight right know, would they be ready?"

"Sir, I have every confidence that the Spartans would be a successful fighting force," Matias finally replied. They had trained hard since they were very young, and he had been impressed by every act of ingenuity by his boys and girls.

"Senior Instructors?" The general looked at them, "Same question. No bullshit, would they cut it as a fighting force?"

"Yes, sir," Instructor Franklin said almost immediately. He was a long time Delta Force instructor who had been responsible for the training of the small cadre of Spartan operators. He had personally overseen the training of that small force, and would vouch for each of the twenty-eight who graduated his Delta program.

"Absolutely," Instructor Martinez replied just after. He was one of the two senior instructors for the hundreds of Spartans, and had been an instructor for the US Army Rangers for years before that. He would put a Spartan toe-to-toe against a Ranger any day.

"Sir, these boys would benefit from training as much as the next soldier. Right now, I would put them up against any SOF unit we have, and they would perform just as well, if not better." Senior Instructor Carlisle was a career soldier and had spent a significant portion of that career training Green Berets. He had been in the game a long time, and General Thomas held a high respect for the man.

Gordon did his best not to let his face betray his thoughts. As far back as he could remember, the closest thing to a compliment the instructors had given them had been something along the lines of "That's not half bad, try it again," and was almost always followed by continuous drilling. Hearing them directly say they would bet on the Spartans was something he wasn't expecting to hear, but it gave him a tremendous surge of pride.

"Spartans," the general addressed the youths present, who sat a little straighter at their mention. "Do you feel that you and those you trained with are ready?"

"Yes, sir!" They called in unison. None of them had imagined they would be deployed so soon, but having trained since they were literally children, they were all itching to do what they were trained for.

"Excellent," the general said. He looked to Colonel Matias. "Colonel, you have one week to set the Spartans up. Give me two airborne companies and two mechanized companies. Split the Special Forces teams however you see fit. Issue ranks as you see appropriate, but the entire chain of command is to be Spartan only. Nothing higher than Major. I want all of the Spartans present for a briefing and induction into Task Force Ansible at 0700 on Monday morning. They are to report to Major Loren, who will show them where to go."

"Yes, sir," Matias said, stunned at the development. There was a lot of work to do.

"Dismissed," the general said, standing up to leave.

* * *

Newly minted Captain Bradley Gordon sat down with the rest of the Spartans in a large briefing room. The last week had been one of the busiest in his life, especially since the Senior Instructors unanimously named him as not just Reaper Team leader, but as the Executive Officer of the Spartan Special Forces teams.

Being that none of the Spartans had previously held an official rank, the officers and non-commissioned officers were all given a crash course in what was expected of them. Meanwhile, they assisted in the organization of three infantry companies. Gordon was not involved much in that portion, as he was responsible for the twenty-four operators that graduated the Special Forces training regimen.

Originally, thirty Spartans were selected for training. Two died in separate training accidents that were thoroughly investigated, though no charges were brought against anyone. Three died together during a night land navigation exercise during the winter, when they got lost. The remaining Spartan was permanently injured when she lost her grip on the rope during rappelling training.

Gordon divided the graduating Spartan operators into three separate eight-man teams, largely leaving their teams from training intact. After three years of training together, they knew and trusted each other implicitly, and Gordon had no desire to fix something that wasn't broken to begin with.

The sound of footsteps approaching from the hallway brought Captain Gordon out of his reflection. He wasn't the only one who noticed, and the light conversation and movement in the room died down as almost two hundred and thirty Spartans anxiously waited to be briefed on their future. The door opened and five men entered.

General Thomas was at the front of the group. Behind him, a sharply dressed colonel that carried himself with the confidence borne of routine life or death fights. The next was a man wearing an eye-poppingly colorful suit, followed closely by a man in fatigues and a man wearing a lab coat. They stood facing the Spartans, and General Thomas cleared his throat.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. I am General Thomas," he said. "Welcome to Task Force Ansible. You are going to be the tip of the spear in a fight unlike any before. There is a lot of information to catch you up on, so listen up. This," he gestured toward the Colonel standing next to him, "is Colonel Marshall Sumner. He will be your commanding officer. I expect you to give him your undivided attention." The general stepped aside, and Colonel Sumner took a step forward.

"Thank you, general." The colonel gave a nod of appreciation, then turned confidently toward the assembled Spartans. "There is no real way to ease you into this, so I am going to get right to the point. Early last year in Britain, my Delta team stumbled upon a site with witches and wizard.," The Spartans did not have the opportunity to question the validity of the statement, as Colonel Sumner continued on without missing a beat. "Further investigation by the leadership of JSOC found that there is a similar community in the United States." He paused to let the information sink in. The Spartans mostly looked skeptical, but said nothing.

"We made contact with the leadership of this community, the Magical Congress of the United States of America, and together laid the groundwork for this task force. This is Auror Tyson, he is here to help get you up to speed on the kinds of threats you will face. With him is Informer Woods. He is also with MACUSA, and will be assisting Auror Tyson. Auror?" The colonel stepped back and Auror Tyson took his place. Before he could speak, one of the Spartans raised a hand.

"Spartan, you have something to add?" Colonel Sumner asked.

"Sir, what exactly is an Auror?" The Spartan stood and asked one of many questions they had.

"An Auror," Tyson answered before anyone could beat him to it, "is much like your police officers. In your case, the military police. I am going to give you a general briefing on the current situation of the United States. You are going to have a lot of questions. Save them, I will be spending the next month with you all so we will have plenty of time." Satisfied, the Spartan sat back down.

"The witch trials of the 1700s were particularly bad for the magical community in America. We were hunted near extinction, and only just survived. It took a significant amount of time for us to recover from the losses, and during that time, dark creatures of every kind made their way to the United States and gangs that stand even today. We have been unable to strengthen to the point that we could wipe them out effectively. One of the primary duties of this task force will be the hunting down and destroying of these gangs." He spoke quickly and clearly. It was obvious to them that he was eager to get started.

"Sir," Captain Mason, the leader of SF team, Specter, began. "What exactly are these 'dark creatures'?"

"Dark creatures are classified by the MACUSA as anything not human that regularly poses a threat to human life," Informer Woods stated. "Werewolves and vampires are more common than the rest, but there are many others. Dementors, red caps, hinkypunks, things like that. We will go over them more thoroughly soon."

Woods saw that Auror Tyson was losing patience already. He had been an Auror for the majority of his life, and he had lost more friends and comrades than he cared to admit. He wanted this task force operational as soon as possible, and had worked diligently to that end.

"As I was saying," Tyson said, with a brief look of irritation at Woods, "I will do my best to send you out there prepared. To that end, Doctor Handover has been working on one of the biggest challenges of this whole program." He gestured to the doctor, who stepped forward. Handover was tall and thin wearing a look of poorly masked discomfort on his face.

"Right, yes." He stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts. "One of the big problems is the nature of magic itself. You see, by its very nature, much of it is hidden to those of us that cannot do magic. 'Muggles' I believe is the term." He looked to Woods for confirmation. Woods gave a quick nod of affirmation, and the doctor continued.

"Obviously our ability to see is important to our ability to fight. I have worked with several research wizards to create a work around. Here," he produced a small vial, "I have a solution. You each will receive one injection a day for the next two weeks. After the series is completed, you will be able to see and interact with magic. You will not be wizards, no. I have not been able to determine why that is, but there you have it. There is an estimated ninety-five percent success rate in gene manipulation with…" He paused again, shifting uncomfortably. He had not been serious when he suggested children, and to say he was shocked when he learned that General Thomas did in fact have youths would be quite an understatement. He was told to run the numbers, and with a little tweaking to the formula of the injection, they projected a much higher success rate. The order went through, and here he stood. "…younger populations, such as yourselves. Colonel Sumner here has also successfully received the injection series." He stopped and looked at his feet until someone else took over. It was an uncomfortable moment before anyone realized he was finished.

"Before we release you to Doctor Handover's people, I want to give you an overview of some of the equipment you'll be familiarizing yourselves with." Colonel Sumner took over after shaking his head slightly at the awkward silence. At his words, a pair of MPs entered, each with a wooden crate. Sumner reached into one and continued talking. "The Magic-Infused Munitions Program, or MIME, was created to give us an edge in combat with magical entities. First off,we will look at MIME rounds." He pulled out what looked like a standard M4 magazine, only there was a green stripe along the bottom. He began passing magazines around, each with a differently colored stripe at the bottom. None were particularly bright, but you could tell the difference at a glance.

"These are rubber bullets that have had spells, hexes, enchantments, or any other manner of magic directly infused into them. For example, the green stripe is a disarming spell. Every round in the magazine will be enchanted the same way, so each shot you fire will disarm the target. We will be training extensively with these rounds, and will become very familiar with each color." They passed the magazines back, and Sumner produced several bullets.

"This is going to be the standard lethal cartridge." He passed several out. They were 5.56, the standard cartridge size of the Army's primary weapons. "It was designed to be as lethal as can be to as many things as can be. It is a steel bullet with a hollowed center. The center is filled with wood and silver shards. It should be able to penetrate most targets, and if your shot placement is good, it will kill a wide variety of dark creatures." They passed the bullets back and Sumner pulled out what looked like a satchel.

"This is a ward-pack." It was a ten pound device with a carrying satchel. He passed several out, and opened the one he was carrying. It was labeled "AA" and had a single dial on the face. "These are area of effect enchantments that will be a necessity. This one is an Anti-Apparition pack. Apparition is a form of magical travel, basically teleportation. This pack, when turned on, will prevent them from being able to do so within a fifty foot radius." He set the pack down. "Once you turn a pack on, it will last for about ten minutes. Keep in mind these packs are one time use. Once turned on, it cannot be turned off and once it burns out, you cannot use it again. You'll need another pack." He put the satchels in the box and stepped back.

"You have had a lot of information thrown at you today. You have a lot of learning to do, so we are going to finish up and let you get to it," Sumner said. "When you leave, you'll each receive the first injection in the series. We will also give you a handbook that outlines many of the dark creatures we expect to face and how to fight them, along with a lot of general information on magic. Study it, memorize it, because it may save your lives." He looked out across the group and it felt like he was looking each of them in the eye. "We have a lot of work to do. So let's get to it. Dismissed."

The group stood almost as one and filed toward the door. Outside, there were medical technicians with tables of injections laid out. They lined up and received a rather painful shot in the arm before they picked up a thick book labeled _The US Army Field Manual on Magic and Magical Creatures_.

Gordon picked up his copy and headed to the barracks to start reading. If they were going to be fighting magical creatures, he had a lot of studying to do before the first engagement.


	7. Intervention

AN - I normally can't update so quick, but this chapter was ready already so here goes. Hope you all enjoy

* * *

In the dusky sky above Sweet Home, Oregon, a chain of events began that was becoming commonplace throughout the United States. Tomorrow morning, there would be nothing about it in the newspaper. There would be no idle gossip about it. People would go about their day as though it was any other, unaware that they were now safer than they were last night.

Just over a mile into the sky, a single Predator C Avenger was flying. It had been recording data since the early morning hours, and now as night fell its mission shifted. Signals were received from several states away, by an operator locked in a secure room. The time for intelligence collection was over, it was time for action.

Powerful optics looked down on a single, large cabin, tucked away in the in the woods above Foster Lake. Bright green beams of light skipped around from the wood line, angled toward the cabin as the ground team made it to their final waypoint.

"Reaper team is on Orchid." None of them were sure who chose to use types of flowers for the checkpoint code-names, though it was responsible for some amusement during their briefing. Down on the ground, Captain Bradley Gordon whispered into his throat-mic, alerting the operations commander, Sentinel, that their team was at the final checkpoint. He, along with the seven other operators of Reaper team were hidden in the woods outside the target cabin. MACUSA had been giving JSOC intelligence about any location they suspected housed dark creatures.

This location was suspected to house a particularly violent werewolf pack. They were smart, finding lone hunters or elderly retired RV campers to hunt. JSOC ordered one of its Avengers into the area, a stealth drone with internal weapons racks that could carry up to three thousand pounds of explosives and could stay in flight for up to twenty hours. After confirming that there were in fact werewolves in the area, Reaper team was deployed.

"Sentinel copies, Orchid," the voice replied. With the final waypoint occupied, the Avenger operator switched his optics to thermal and scanned the cabin, confirming that all ten werewolves were present. After a careful count, then recount, he submitted the confirmation code to command. "Reaper team is a go."

"Reaper copies, go," Gordon confirmed, and started slowly toward the cabin. It was nearly pitch black outside, and to compensate for it, each of the operators wore a set of GPNVG-18 goggles on the front of their helmets. The goggles had four lenses that worked together to create a ninety-seven degree field of view, keeping their peripheral vision intact during low light operations.

Gordon was headed toward the front door, as Sergeant First Class Sanderson took his four-man fireteam to the rear door. Gordon gripped his rifle tightly as he neared his entry point. His rifle, an HK416 was developed for the special operations community. It used a gas piston system that significantly reduced weapon malfunctions, making it a much more reliable rifle. Each of them fielded the latest in weapons suppressors, holographic sights, grips, and flashlights, customizing to the comfort of each individual operator.

"Reaper, be advised-" whatever Sentinel was about to say was cut off as the front door of the cabin burst outward. Several men rushed outside straight at them, snarling violently. While werewolves only changed during a full moon, the more violent ones still kept a number of their animalistic tendencies while human. They were very strong and would do everything they could to physically tear people apart, or worse in Gordon's opinion, eat you.

"Light 'em up!" Gordon shouted even as he began rapidly firing into the closest target. Their magazines each had a red stripe, and each round fired was its own hybrid of a stunning spell. Gordon's target collapsed as several shots plowed into its gut, and Gordon shifted targets. Within several seconds, all ten werewolves were on the ground, unmoving.

"Reaper 2, secure the cabin!" Gordon called to Sanderson on the radio. The four operators at the back of the cabin entered and verified that there were no more threats while Gordon and the rest of Reaper team went about binding the werewolves. The task was much easier now that they had the grey striped _Incarcerous_ rounds. Each shot fired bound the target securely with ropes from the shoulders to their waist.

"Cabin secure," Sanderson's voice came over the radio. Gordon, satisfied that the site was secure, ended his portion of the operation.

"Sentinel, Reaper team. Site secure, all targets accounted for." Gordon said as the rest of the team began lining up the bound werewolves.

"Sentinel copies, stand-by for retasking." Everyone on the team stopped what they were doing at those words. Retasking meant that something else was going on, near enough to their location that they were going to be the response.

"Double time that lineup." Gordon said, and everyone got back to work. Sanderson came jogging down the front steps to Gordon with something large in his hand.

"What do you make of this?" He handed it to Gordon. It was a person's head. Or vampires head, as the case was. Gordon inspected the blood stained lips, and noted that behind them were elongated, sharp teeth. "Who's it look like though?" Sanderson asked, obviously with someone in mind.

"Uh," Gordon took a better look and paused. He dropped the head and rotated his left wrist to face him. Each of the operators carried a Special Operators Linked Data Assistant, or SOLDA. Most of them pronounced it "solja" often followed by a pop culture joke, or simply as their PDA. It was a flexible touch screen that wrapped around their wrist. On it, they could access anything they could need: maps of the battlefield, UAV footage, language translation, access to the Orbital Cargo Delivery Satellite network, the list of high value targets, among other functions. It was the HVT list that he needed.

He took a quick look through the list, checking the pictures as he went. Jackpot. Collin Averman, a notorious vampire nest leader. The nest was one of the oldest in the United States, and MACUSA estimated there were over fifty vampires in it. If its leaders head was here, he couldn't imagine the nest being far off. In fact, he imagined they would likely be pissed off.

"Reaper team, take up defensive positions immediately." Sentinel beat him to the order. They must have figured it out as well. "You have a company strength force of vampires bearing down on your position."

 _Great,_ he thought to himself, _fifty plus vampires. The nest found them._ He cut the introspection short and changed his magazine to lethal rounds. Vampires were fast and while they could be taken down with the stunning ammunition, he was not certain that they could get around to binding them all before others started waking up. He wasn't going to lose his guys trying to keep the bad guys alive.

"Go lethal," he ordered as his men hustled inside the cabin, leaving the bound werewolves to their fate. They circled up in the center of the living room, getting behind overturned furniture and ensuring the best firing lanes possible. Fifty was a lot to hold out against, but if anyone could do it, he would bet on his guys.

"Reaper team, Sentinel," their command element called over the radio. "Extraction helicopter will be on station in three mikes. Hold out until then, then double-time to the bird. We are dropping a payload on the house as soon as you're in the air."

"Three minutes…" Sgt. Strong muttered, mirroring the sentiment shared by the entire team. Three minutes was a lifetime in combat. He checked his watch quickly and began the painfully slow mental countdown.

Gordon, closest to the broken main door, heard a wet squishing sound. _Sounds like they made it to the werewolves._ He imagined they were being torn apart by the vampires. Bound and stunned, they were completely unable to defend themselves. Gordon might have felt bad, if they weren't tearing innocent people apart for sport less than a day ago that is.

"Contact!" Staff Sgt. Nelson shouted, just before he fired several shots. After those initial shots, all hell broke loose. The sound of breaking glass barely drowned out the suppressed gunfire as the vampires made their bloodthirsty assault. Vampires were among the more curious creatures in the wizarding world. They remained completely in control of themselves, unless of course they caught the scent of blood. Once that happened, they went wild, they frenzied. Almost like sharks. After what felt like an eternity, Gordon heard the soft thrumming of helicopter rotors.

"Get ready to break, rear door to the LZ. Fireteam one to the door, then cover. Fireteam two the bird, then cover." Gordon shouted his orders over the cacophony that was erupting around them. "Break!" he yelled. Staff Sergeant Grimes, Sergeants Steele and Matthews, and Gordon broke from their cover while the rest of fireteam 2 stayed behind, holding the position with a high volume of gunfire. As soon as Gordon's fireteam made it to the door, Gordon turned with Grimes to cover the withdrawal. Both sergeants stepped outside, covering the other end of the exit so they wouldn't get ambushed right as they left. "Team two, go!" Gordon yelled.

"Moving!" Sanderson shouted, and his fireteam left their cover, running for the door. As soon as they made it outside, they could see a pair of SUH-60 Blackhawks, one getting ready to touch down in the clearing about two hundred yards from the cabin, and the other circling above. The SUH-60 was an upgraded variant of the venerable workhorse of the United States military, its most notable difference being the flat angles designed to refract radar pulses and streamlined rotors that made it one of the quietest helicopters utilized by the military.

Sanderson and his fireteam ran for the jet-black helicopter, even as the one flying over watch began providing cover fire with its M134 minigun. It was standard practice, especially in aviation to load every tenth cartridge as a "tracer round" which upon firing, would burn brightly. The bullet travels so fast that it leaves a streak, showing where that shot was placed and giving a machine gunner the ability to correct his aim. The eight-barreled M134 fired upwards of six thousand rounds per minute, so fast that a burst looked more like a steady laser beam.

"Covering fire!" Sanderson shouted as his fireteam reached the extraction helicopter. They turned and formed a semicircle around the open side door, and started firing as Gordon's team headed their way. Once they reached the helicopter, they started loading up.

"One, two, three…" Gordon counted as each of his men got aboard the helicopter. It was a simple thing, but it ensured that no one got left behind on accident. Combat was chaotic. Keeping calm and methodical kept you alive. "Seven!" Gordon shouted as Sanderson climbed aboard, then reached a hand out. Gordon took it and was heaved into the helicopter. "Everyone is accounted for, go!" Gordon yelled. The pilot didn't need to be told twice, and immediately the helicopter lifted from the ground, banking toward the right.

"Weapon away." They heard over the radio as the helicopters continued rising. It was another several long seconds before there was a bright flash and a loud detonation. The Avenger had dropped a two thousand pound bomb directly on the cabin.

It was originally believed that only a wooden stake to the heart or sunlight were the only ways to kill a vampire. It turned out that wood or silver damaging the brain would also work, though that still was not the only way. Catastrophic damage would also kill most dark creatures believed to be impervious to all but certain, specific deaths. Explosives or even just a high volume of gunfire could do it.

The rest of the vampire coven was destroyed in the blast. JSOC, after its first few operations, had formed a unit to clean up after operations. They made sure there was no evidence that the military had been there, and that no evidence of the supernatural existed.

There were very few neighbors nearby, and even fewer who cared about those around them. The remoteness made it easier to set up a drug trade. By the time the authorities were called to investigate, the scene was a familiar one, albeit on a much larger scale. Deputies and the fire marshal investigated the site and ruled it an accidental explosion in a methamphetamine lab. It happened a couple times a year at least. Case closed.

* * *

Their MACUSA liaison had been ecstatic when they informed him that they not only wiped out a dangerous werewolf pack, but had also eliminated one of the oldest and most dangerous vampire covens on the west coast. Reaper team alone had taken on several werewolf packs, a pair of vampire nests, a particularly violent family of sasquatches, and a pair of dementors. After each successful operation, it was tradition to unwind.

"Another one down!" Bradley Gordon shouted, raising a glass of root beer. His team was celebrating the success of their latest operation. Staff Sergeant Eric Grimes was fiddling with the radio, and had finally gotten reception to the classic rock station. The rest of them were otherwise occupied within the "operators bar." Many special operations units had a bar, filled with food, alcohol, and entertainment. They would go there for celebrations or just regular hanging out between missions. The Spartans were no different.

Well, they were slightly different. Being that Gordon, at sixteen years old, was one of the older Spartan special forces operators, they could not stock alcohol. They had a fantastic assortment of sodas, though they routinely griped about the fact that they were the only Special Forces unit that couldn't consume alcohol.

"This'll work," Eric said, satisfied with the music selection. He went and sat at the bar with Gordon, selecting a bottle of his favorite, cherry soda. Eric was the team 'model' and had exceptionally good looks. He was routinely jabbed at for it, but took it in stride.

Sergeants Jason Steele and Ian Harden were again at the corner table, sitting across from each other, locked in a vicious arm wrestling battle. The two were often found lifting weights together and were by far the largest on the team. They were constantly locked in battles of strength, which to this day had not determined a clear winner.

Sgt. David Strong was the only other one sitting at the bar, furiously scribbling in his sudoku book. He was their forward observer, and math was a necessity for calling in air and artillery strikes. He started doing math puzzles to help get used to it, and now he did it because he "enjoyed it," though the rest of the team gave him a hard time for it.

Sergeant First Class Ryan Sanderson, Reaper teams second in command, was napping in a hammock they had installed in the corner opposite the "arm wrestling" table where Jason and Ian liked to sit. Ryan lived and breathed work and most of the guys thought he was a bit of a hard ass. He did not tolerate incompetence very well, but there was no one quite like him in a fight.

Staff Sergeant Sam Nelson had just returned from the bathroom, and headed for the bar. He, like Ryan, kept to himself a lot of the time. He was the shortest guy on the team at about five foot seven inches, and what he lacked in height he made up for in temper. He got behind the bar and went straight to the coffee machine, pouring himself a generous cup. He was an avid coffee drinker, one of the only in the unit. He sat down at the bar quietly and stirred in his sugar and creamer.

"Goddamnit!" he shouted, startling Ryan awake and causing heads to turn as he spit his sip of coffee across the bar. "Matthews," he yelled at Sgt. Mike Matthews, the unit's prankster. If he spent half the effort he spent on elaborate pranks on his job instead, he probably would have at least made Staff Sergeant. "Quit putting the damned salt in the sugar jar!" His face was red as he stormed to the sink and rinsed the rest of the cup down the drain.

"My bad," Mike got out between fits of laughter, "last time, for sure." He was smiling into his own drink. Sam huffed, certain that it was definitely _not_ going to be the last time. Meanwhile Ian was complaining to Jason that he was distracted, and that was the only reason he lost the arm wrestle.

"Rematch," he said, putting his arm in position. Jason laughed and quickly grabbed his friend's hand, and just like that they were locked in another battle.

Gordon smiled at the scene. He was proud of his guys, and they deserved some down time. He took another sip of his root beer, content to watch the team.

* * *

"Colonel, please, come in." General Thomas beckoned Sumner into his office. "Have a seat," he said, gesturing toward the chair in front of his desk.

"Sir," Sumner greeted the general, and sat. He was still trying to get used to being called Colonel. The promotion from Captain straight to Colonel was unorthodox to say the least, but it appeared that none of the other officers Thomas trusted for the assignment had success in their vaccinations. Colonel Sumner was far from the last officer General Thomas would have picked for the assignment, but someone like Major Loren, with experience leading large numbers, would have been nice.

"I just got word from MACUSA, their ambassador just returned from the UK." General Thomas was not a fan of these political games, and knew Sumner wasn't either. "Apparently, the British Ministry is still chafing about the incursion into Hogwarts. I haven't been expressly asked, but I can read between the lines. You, along with Informer Woods will be going to Britain to meet with the Minster of Magic to issue a formal apology for the incident. You'll leave immediately."

"Right," Sumner said curtly. He knew logically that he hadn't done anything wrong given the information he had at the time. He knew the apology was more political than anything, but that didn't keep him from feeling a little irritated by it.

"Just apologize about the misunderstanding and placate any concerns they may have about the task force and the Statute of Secrecy," the general said. He dismissed Sumner, who left to fetch Informer Woods.

Several hours later, Colonel Sumner and Informer Woods were walking through the atrium of the British Ministry of Magic, being led by a ministry official calling himself Burton. The floors were a polished, dark wood of some sort, and Sumner's dress shoes clicked with each step. He tried to ignore the stares as he walked along. He stood out from the crowd in his dress uniform.

"Impressive, innit?" Burton said, gesturing at a fountain they were walking past. It was significantly larger than the one he had seen in the Woolworth Building and in the center was a large golden statue labeled "The Fountain of Brethren." A witch and wizard stood proudly, and a centaur and two creatures he was not familiar with stood near, staring up adoringly at them.

"Yeah," Woods said, thinking along the same lines as Sumner. Brethren didn't seem to be quite the right word.

"Right this way, yea?" Burton continued on toward the elevators. Sumner mentally cursed at the thought of riding another magical elevator and braced himself. Once inside, he realized it appeared more or less like a normal elevator. Old fashioned perhaps, with a pull down gate, but normal.

"Minister's office." Burton scanned the buttons, finally selecting one. The elevator jerked backwards, then up quickly, then to the right for what seemed like a long time before it came to a stop. It was not as jarring as the American ones, but it still wasn't a smooth ride. "Out ya go." Burton indicated the open door. "Minister's office is down the hall to the right. Can' miss it." Both men stepped out, and Burton closed the elevator door.

"Down the hall, to the right," Sumner repeated, looking at the long hall ahead. He started walking, with Woods close in tow.

"Can't miss it," Woods finished Burtons comment, amused by the strange man. They made their way down the hall passing doors with several different labels. "Assistant to the Minister," "Deputy Assistant to the Minister's Assistant," and so on. Finally, they reached the final door on the right. It was a black door, across the top, labeled in magnificent golden letters read "Minister of Magic."

"Looks like the place," Sumner said quietly. He knocked twice and was answered almost immediately.

"Come in," a man's voice said. Sumner opened the door and saw a short, plump, balding man sitting behind a desk that could only be described as "excessive" in the Colonel's opinion. The man, who Colonel Sumner determined must be Minister Fudge, was a little red in the face. It took Sumner a moment to notice that, standing farther into the room, there was another man.

He was tall and very old looking, and had a long grey beard that passed his waistline. He looked up at Sumner with a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes. It was the headmaster of Hogwarts, though for the life of him, Sumner could not remember the man's name.

"Good day to you, Colonel Sumner, I believe it is," the man greeted him cheerfully, obviously not holding a grudge about the incursion.

"Headmaster," Sumner said, deciding that some greeting was better than nothing.

"Dumbledore," he said, answering Sumner's unasked question as though he had spoken it aloud. "Don't worry, I am not offended. But then you are not here to see me are you?"

"I imagine it does concern you, so you may as well stay," Sumner said, deciding he liked the headmaster already more than Minister Fudge. The short man looked on at the short conversation with his mouth slightly agape, as though he wished to interrupt it. "That is, if it is agreeable to you Sir." Sumner looked at Fudge for his reply.

"Yes, of course," he said quickly, obviously attempting to seem cheerful, though it appeared he had not yet gotten over whatever he and Dumbledore had been talking about. No one said anything about it. "Please, go on," Fudge gestured toward Sumner. Woods stood near the door, and Dumbledore continued to stand near a far bookshelf, thumbing through an old book of some kind.

"Sir, on behalf of the United States military, and the American magical congress, I would like to apologize for the incursion into Hogwarts. Had we known what it was at the time, we would not have gone near it, I assure you. As for Task Force Ansible, you can rest assured that we are well aware of and uphold the International Statute of Secrecy. We take the safety of the magical community very seriously. Should you ever need our support, MACUSA and JSOC would like to assure you that you'll have it." Sumner had rehearsed it in his mind several times before they took the floo network to Britain, and he spoke flawlessly and professionally.

"Is that what you're on about?" Fudge asked, a genuine look of amusement crossed his face. "Water under the bridge dear fellow, goodness. Ambassador Goodwin took my ribbing much too seriously, I'm afraid." Fudge said waving his hands as though to blow the whole idea away from him.

"Might I ask about this Task Force you speak of?" Dumbledore asked politely. Colonel Sumner eyed the man for a moment. It was hardly being kept a secret within the magical community.

"Task Force Ansible is the unit I lead. It was created with support from the magical government in America to combat threats to both magical and muggle citizens alike. Currently, we have been undertaking operations to clear the United States of dark creatures," Sumner said, proud of the men and women under his command.

"Fascinating," Dumbledore said simply. "And you say that you would be prepared to assist Britain?" Fudge shifted uncomfortably in his seat, though Dumbledore seemed quite at ease at the moment. There was something Sumner was missing, though he couldn't figure out what.

"Yes, I have been authorized to offer support, though final decisions would need to be made by President Harris and General Thomas," he said, not sure about what Dumbledore was after. Woods had discussed the matter in depth with President Harris, who had received several howlers and other particularly unpleasant mail from Ministry officials around the world, upset at the cooperation with the muggle government. Proving internationally that the muggles could help would be a huge relief to MACUSA.

"That is most welcome news. You see, Hogwarts is in a bit of a situation and might benefit from extra protection," Dumbledore said. Fudge looked up at him with a flick of irritation.

"I am certain the dementors will be quite sufficient," Fudge said with a finality in his voice. Sumner almost did a double-take, not certain he heard the Minister correctly.

"Dementors, in a school?" Sumner asked skeptically, as though by force of will he could change what he heard.

"I am not the only one with reservations about it, I see." Dumbledore still looked completely at ease. "Surely, if I can secure some of this Task Force for the security of the school, dementors would be unnecessary."

"This Ministry must be doing something about the Black situation. Relying on foreign muggles simply won't do," Fudge tried to convince the room, unsuccessfully.

"What is the Black situation, and what about it could possibly make it worth putting dementors in a school?" Sumner asked, his voice laced with disapproval. His question was for information, his mind made up on the subject of dementors in a school.

"Sirius Black is an incredibly dangerous wizard that escaped Azkaban. He is after one of the students at Hogwarts," Fudge explained the situation, then continued on with his rationale. "Not to mention, the dementors will not be inside the school really. They will be patrolling outside."

"Sir, with all due respect, I don't see how you can even consider putting dementors at the school." He gave Fudge a pointed look, then turned to face Dumbledore. "I will have an infantry company and one of my best special forces teams at your school as soon as you're ready to receive them." Sumner didn't technically have the authority to promise that, but he felt confident that no one would approve of the alternative.

"I…" Fudge started, but decided the better of arguing. He struck Sumner as a bit of a people pleaser, which didn't do him any favors. "Oh alright, I'll look into it a bit."

"The year starts on the first of September," Dumbledore said, indicating his agreement to host the security force. "Minister Fudge, I should like to remind you that they will be on Hogwarts property. I do hope you won't try anything to make things difficult for them."

"Of course." Fudge said dryly. "Now if you don't mind, I have much work to do." He was probably tired of getting told what to do in his own office, Sumner thought to himself. The three men exited the room, saying their goodbyes.

"Colonel Sumner, I shall look forward to seeing you again." Dumbledore gave a polite nod to the two men, and with a twist, apparated away.

Colonel Sumner and Woods went back to the floo network in the atrium, Sumner trying to figure out how he should start the conversation that he promised firepower to a foreign power. It was the right thing to do, but he was sure that General Thomas would have a thing or two to say about it.

To Colonel Sumner's surprise, the general very quickly approved the decision to aid Hogwarts. General Thomas knew that the operation could help legitimize Task Force Ansible in the international magical community. Aside from that, the general could not think of a legitimate reason to send children to school with dementors. In less than a few hours, Colonel Sumner left the general's office with a deployment order typed up.

* * *

 **OPERATIONS ORDER**  
 **U.S. JOINT SPECIAL OPERATIONS COMMAND**  
 **TASK FORCE ANSIBLE**

 **UNITS EFFECTED**  
Bravo Company  
Reaper Team

 **FRIENDLY UNITS**  
Unknown

 **ENEMY UNITS**  
Escaped convict Sirius Black

 **AREA OF INTEREST**  
Hogwarts School, United Kingdom

 **DEPLOYMENT**  
Effective 20 August 2016 to Royal Air Force Base Lossiemouth  
Deploy to site 1 September 2016

 **MISSION ORDER**  
Deploy Bravo Company and Reaper team to provide schoolwide security at Hogwarts School of  
Witchcraft and Wizardry. Provide general security function. Harden school against possible  
incursion by Sirius Black, who is known to be hunting a student, Harry James Potter. Protect  
all students and staff on site.

 **RULES OF ENGAGEMENT**  
Non-Lethal weapons and tactics unless under lethal attack, or to defend the life and safety of  
staff or student. Not to leave Hogwarts grounds under any circumstances.

 **CHAIN OF COMMAND**  
Colonel Marshall Sumner, not on site  
Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of School  
Major Greg Davis, Task Force Ansible, Bravo Company  
Captain Bradley Gordon

 **UNIT ORDERS**  
Bravo Company  
Hogwarts Security  
Reaper Team  
Personal Safety of Harry James Potter

Signed,

 _General Thomas_


	8. Deployment

AN - Well the story has reached 1000 views, and I wanted to thank everyone who is reading. Its been more successful than I had hoped, and it has been a fun project so far. Without further ado, Chapter 8

* * *

Group Captain Hugh Cheshire stood on the tarmac, watching a U.S. Air Force C-5 Galaxy as it landed. As commander of Royal Air Force Lossiemouth, commonly referred to as RAF Lossiemouth, he had seen a great many in his day. This C-5, the last of many U.S. aircraft that had been arriving all day, was most unwelcome.

RAF Lossiemouth sat in northeast Scotland and was among the busiest air force bases in the whole of England. He loved the challenge of running such a prestigious air base, and he found it more infuriating than he cared to admit when he was ordered to shut down half of his air base for nine days at the request of their American "allies."

The Galaxy finally came to a halt near him, and he waited as the bay loading door opened. This aircraft, he expected, carried the actual troops. Some soldiers had arrived in each aircraft that landed, but they were all carrying equipment. Helicopters, Humvees, weapons, ammunition, and a multitude of other things needed to carry on a small war.

The problem, at least in Group Captain Cheshire's mind, was that there was no war to be fought. Not on British soil, and not by the damned Yanks. He had half a mind to boot these arrogant bastards off of his base, if he had the authority of course. One does not disobey the direct orders of an air commodore.

" _You will be hosting an American detachment for about nine days. Empty the southern compound and don't let anyone out there. The Americans are to be left alone unless they ask for something. They will be leaving early on the first of September. Dismissed."_ He didn't have much of a chance to protest, not that he would have. He would follow orders, but he would not do so with a smile.

The bay door on the C-5 had fully opened, and Americans poured out onto the tarmac. They were dressed in full battle gear, wearing packs and carrying rifles.

 _Rifles, on my base?_ He thought to himself. Several figures approached him, and he stood, allowing them to walk the full distance. He glanced at the man's collar, a colonel. With him a major and a captain. He almost did a double-take at the other officers. They couldn't have been older than teenagers.

"Group Captain Cheshire?" The colonel greeted him with a sharp salute. The group captain responded with a salute of his own out of reflex, though he didn't reply. He was still trying to process the youths in his mind. "I hadn't expected to see you down here." Sumner had specifically asked Air Commodore Douglas to keep all British personnel out of this side of the base. The last thing the U.S. military needed would be rumors about child soldiers, true as they may be.

"Right, well I wanted to see what the hubbub was," he said, trying to maintain the hardness he felt in his voice. "Not every day you're ordered to shut down a third of your base, see?"

"Of course," Sumner said. He had never been a fan of self-important officers, and this guy screamed of it. He had been ordered not to snoop, yet here they were. "I trust you're satisfied?" The colonel took a step forward, closer to the group commander than was socially appropriate. "Now please extract yourself from this area of the base and forget anything you think you saw out here."

Cheshire's mouth hung open for a second. He was quite unaccustomed to being talked to that way, and he found himself embarrassingly unprepared for it. He closed his mouth and looked the colonel up and down, noticing a tattoo on his forearm. He recognized the dagger and banner as that of a prestigious United States Special Forces unit, and decided that this was in fact above his pay grade. He gave a quick, half-hearted salute and left.

Colonel Sumner watched him go, personally satisfied at telling the pompous ass off. He did not imagine there would be more trouble with the British personnel asking questions. He turned to Major Jacob Price, the commander of Bravo Company, and Captain Gordon.

"See to it that your men get settled in. I will make sure that the equipment gets set up. Tomorrow morning at 0700 we will have a full briefing about the coming operation." Both officers looked ready to execute the orders, so he dismissed them.

* * *

"Gentlemen, listen up," Colonel Sumner called to the makeshift briefing room. It was obviously an aircraft hangar, but the task force didn't need to store any aircraft and they did need somewhere to fit the two hundred man company and its accompanying Special Forces team. They quieted down almost immediately.

"We have all heard the Cliff's Notes version, it's time for the full story. Earlier this year, a high value prisoner escaped the primary British wizarding prison, Azkaban." There were a few chuckles at the name, and Sumner paused the briefing a moment. "No, Azkaban is not an eastern European country." There was a wider spread of laughter, and Sumner allowed himself a smile. There was a fine line between insubordination and just enjoying your work. He always held the belief that a happy unit was a functional unit, and a little laughter went a long way.

"Let's get back on target. This prisoner, Sirius Black, is convicted of the murders of thirteen people in broad daylight and is known to be all but insane. His intended target is a student at the school we will be occupying, Hogwarts. His name is Harry Potter, and he is very important to the British wizarding community. He is the only person in recorded history to survive a killing curse, the same curse that killed his parents." A few members of the group shifted uncomfortably. They were all orphaned as children, and each of them personally knew how it felt to be without parents. The coped by becoming some of the best soldiers out there, but it didn't bring their parents back and it was always a sore subject for them.

"This kid has been through the shit," Sumner continued, determining that the unit had sufficient personal motivation to see the boy protected. "He has had a lot of crazy happen, and you all can read about it in the mission dossier. Reaper team," Sumner looked directly at Capt. Gordon, who stood straighter at the mention of his team, "will be handling his security personally. We aren't going to escort him everywhere he goes, at least not yet. But you will be his shadow, and you will be making sure he doesn't get killed."

"Yes, Sir," Gordon said simply. He, like the other Spartans, felt a personal connection to Harry already. It would feel like letting one of his Spartans down, to let him get hurt.

"Bravo Company, your job is to keep the school secure. You will set up checkpoints, patrols, reaction teams. I want that school safe," Sumner said.

"We'll handle it," Major Price said confidently. Bravo Company was an airborne company, trained extensively in air assault and helicopter operations. That said, they were still a tier two infantry unit, and they were more than capable of long-term security operations.

"Here's how it's going to go." Sumner clicked a button and the PowerPoint lit up, showing a map of the area. "At 0800 hours on 1 September, a train called the Hogwarts Express will depart from Kings Cross Station heading to Hogwarts. Onboard will be the entire student body. The train will arrive at Hogsmeade Station, Hogsmeade being a village close in proximity to the school, at 1800 hours."

"At 1400 hours, Bravo Company and Reaper team will load onto the helicopters, and fly to a clearing near Hogsmeade. First and Second Platoons will head immediately for the school. Two squads from First Platoon will set up exterior checkpoints, the rest of you will enter and clear the castle floor by floor. Headmaster Dumbledore has alerted the staff that they are to assist you in every way, and will be on station to lend a hand as needed."

"Third Platoon will stay in the clearing to facilitate the offloading of equipment. We have calculated that four trips total will be necessary to get all of the gear and vehicles offloaded."

"Fourth Platoon and Reaper team will go to Hogsmeade and secure the village. We are absolutely _not_ to enter any structure in the village. We are being allowed to the village only to escort the students to the school. ROE (rules of engagement) will be to stun and detain any threat to the students or yourselves. If you see Sirius Black, detain or eliminate him by any means necessary."

"We have until 0500 hours on September 2nd to have everyone inside the boarders of the school. The British Ministry is insistent that our task force stay within school boundaries unless directly escorting students on approved leave from school grounds. Anyone in their third year or above is granted specific weekends in Hogsmeade, and we will provide escort. Other than that, do not leave school grounds. Period." Sumner looked over the group. "Any questions?" No one raised a hand.

"This timeline is no joke gentlemen, we are going to spend the next few days practicing." Sumner said, much to the ire of the entire unit. They were about to spend a lot of time practicing room clearing and loading/unloading equipment from helicopters.

* * *

 _Crack!_ Harry was briefly aware of the loud bang as the triple decker bus appeared outside its current destination. His mind was more occupied by the sensation of sliding in his chair, terrifyingly, to the front of the bus as it came to a sudden stop.

"Leak Cauldron!" Stanley Shunpike called out, and Harry had never been happier. He quickly got up and made to exit the bus. "Nice meetin' ya Mr. Longbottom!"

Harry still wasn't sure why he used Neville's name, but it seemed to work. He shuffled off the bus so rapidly, he didn't have time to see that there was someone in the way. He ran into the plump form and almost fell backwards, catching himself at the last second.

"Harry? Harry my boy, good gracious!" Standing just outside the bus door was Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. "There you are!" He put a hand on Harry's shoulder, and looked up as the conductor of the bus popped his head out.

"What didja call Neville?" he asked, a very confused look on his face.

"Neville?" Minister Fudge, who had worried since the report of Harry leaving, gave a frustrated sigh. "Nonsense, this is Harry Potter!" Fudge stooped to Harry's level, which was not much shorter than his own, "We really must get inside." He pulled Harry along by the shoulder.

"Ern! Ern! Guess who Neville is…" Stan was calling out as they left. Stanley was still jumping with excitement as the duo made it inside the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry was glad for the warmth, but was too distracted by his fears. He had blown up his aunt and was on the run from the law, sure that the ministry would expel him for it. It was his luck that he would run directly into the Minister of Magic himself.

Harry said nothing as Fudge ordered a small private parlor and a spot of tea. Fudge marched the still silent Harry down a narrow hallway, following Tom the barkeep to their room. After a brief word of thanks, Tom left them alone.

"I'm Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic," Fudge introduced himself. Harry knew who he was, it was hard not to know who the Minister was. "You gave us quite a scare, you know? Running away from your aunt and uncle. I thought for sure that..." He stopped as though he was about to say something he shouldn't, and poured some tea. "Well, you're safe now, that's all that matters." He indicated the tray with tea and biscuits.

"Eat something, you look positively dead on your feet, my boy." Fudge took a biscuit for himself, and Harry followed suit. "You'll be glad to know that the situation with your aunt has been dealt with. Your Aunt Marge is back to her normal size and thanks to a slight memory modification, is none the wiser. So, no harm no foul." He said, looking pleased with himself.

"I…" Harry wasn't sure what to say, and closed his mouth again.

"Worried about the reaction of your aunt and uncle? They were quite upset, if I am to be honest, but they will be taking you back next summer," Fudge said with a smile. He obviously thought that was good news.

"Wait," Harry was still trying to process the 'no harm no foul' attitude by the minister. "Last year I was told that if I perform _any_ magic outside school I'd be expelled."

"Well, circumstances change. What with the current situation…" He paused a minute, the look on his face suggested he was mentally navigating away from something. "I mean surely you don't _want_ to be expelled?"

"Of course not!" Harry replied quickly. That was among the last things he wanted.

"Well then, what's all the fuss about?" He laughed, sealing the issue. He stood up and made for the door. "I am going to go see if Tom has a room for you, just make yourself at home for now."

Half an hour later, Harry found himself standing in room eleven. Hedwig, along with his trunk and the rest of his meager belongings were neatly stacked in a corner of the room. He had been told by Fudge to stay within Diagon Alley for the three weeks until school started, and promptly left. Harry greeted his owl, fed her, and laid down. He was exhausted and the idea of sleeping in a comfortable bed, away from the Dursley's was quite appealing.

* * *

Harry woke up late in the morning, having slept soundly and comfortably for the first time since summer holiday began. He went downstairs to a busy bar and found that the only empty seat was near a pair of grumpy looking men talking quietly to each other.

After ordering a small breakfast, he sat down and thought about what he was going to do today. He was excited to explore the alley more thoroughly, as he never really had the chance to take his time. There was his school shopping to do as well. His introspection was derailed when one of the men near him mentioned his school.

"Well he can't expect to get into Hogwarts, can he?" the taller of the two asked. His companion, a stout looking man with a bushy mustache shook his head.

"Dumbledore isn't accepting security help from the Ministry, so I don't know." He took a large bite of toast, and Harry might have laughed if he wasn't so intent on what they were saying. The bite left a trail of crumbs along the man's mustache. "Fudge was pretty upset after his meeting with Dumbledore. Wasn't happy at all with whatever Dumbledore is doing to keep the school safe."

"Can't blame him though," the thin one said distantly. His companion took another bite, which seemed to pull him out of his revelry. "Dementors are nasty creatures."

"Yeah, can't argue there. Fudge is still sending the dementors to look for 'im." The mustachioed man took a last bite and stood suddenly, his friend joining him. They left, continuing their conversation and leaving Harry with several questions.

 _What was wrong with the security at Hogwarts? Why was Fudge mad at Dumbledore? And what is a dementor?_

* * *

"What?" Hermione looked shocked. Harry had just finished explaining what he had overheard Mr. and Mrs. Weasley talking about. The three sat in the rear of the Hogwarts Express, along with a _hopefully_ sleeping professor. "Sirius Black escaped to come after you? You'll have to be really careful! Don't go looking for trouble."

"I don't _go looking_ ," Harry emphasized, "it finds me."

"He'd be mental to go looking," Ron said. "Why would he try and find someone who wants to kill him? Rotten luck though, mate." Ron eyed the hunched form of Professor R.J. Lupin, still not convinced the man was asleep.

"That's not all though." Harry filled them in on what he overheard at the Leaky Cauldron. He had been excited to see them yesterday when they showed up in the morning. He hadn't had a chance to talk to them since then however.

"I wonder what Fudge would be upset about," Hermione said idly. "It would make sense, if Sirius Black is after you, to have extra security."

"They said Fudge was using-" whatever Harry was going to say was cut off when the train abruptly stopped and the lights all turned off.

"What's going on?" Hermione whispered, a worried edge to her voice. Neither of them replied, instead listening intently. Hermione gasped as they heard the sliding door open, unable to see in the dark.

"Hello?" It was the voice of Neville Longbottom, a fellow Gryffindor. They breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"It's us," Harry said quietly. Neville recognized the voice and took a step inside. "What's going on?"

"I dunno," Neville replied, "once the lights went out, I thought I'd see what happened. It's so dark though." That was an understatement. It felt like they couldn't see what was in front of their faces. There was a startled scream from farther down the train, and Neville whimpered, quickly closing the door.

"Ow, that's my lap!" Ron whispered. None of them felt like they should talk out loud.

"Quiet, all of you," a new voice sounded, and Ron almost jumped out of his seat. They had forgotten about Professor Lupin. A dim light emanated from the tip of his wand. He looked tired and pale, but his eyes darted around alertly.

There was a gentle swooshing sound outside the car door, and Harry felt the air around him go cold. He shivered, and noticed he could see his breath. The car door slid open slowly, and rotten, bony fingers appeared. The door opened to reveal a figure in flowing black robes. The smell of rot and decay filled the car, and Harry felt his vision narrow. He was vaguely aware of a woman screaming before everything went black.

* * *

Captain Bradley Gordon looked at his watch again for what felt like the hundredth time. It read 1340 hours, he had twenty minutes. He was experiencing a common phenomenon, known well by soldiers across the world. Pre-deployment jitters.

In twenty minutes, Bravo Company and Reaper team would load onto several Blackhawks and Chinooks, and there would be a three hour flight to their drop-off. There were many things to do before then, and unfortunately for Brad and the many other soldiers about to make the drop, none of it was their job. Pre-flight checks, fueling, arming weapons and many other duties were being performed by the air crews. The infantrymen all were dressed in full battle gear, with their rucksacks packed and ready to go.

"Any aces?" Ian asked, and Brad looked over. All of Reaper team sat around a circular table, no easy feat in full gear, and were playing 'Go Fish.' They got the cards intending to play poker, that is until they tried the game and realized none of them knew how to play it. Brad checked his hand, and was glad to see he didn't have aces. Jason, Ian's closest friend, wasn't so lucky however.

"Agh!" He made a noise of disgust as he dropped two aces on the table. Ian and Jason found a close friendship in their joy of lifting weights, and were some of the most competitive people Brad had ever met. The two were constantly locked in a contest of who was or did something better, though neither was a truly sore loser and they only competed for bragging rights.

"Alright!" Ian exclaimed, picking up the two aces. "You guys planning on letting me win or what?" He had the largest number of cards by far, and wore a large grin on his face.

"My turn then," Sam said under his breath. "Twos?" He looked at Ian, who remained silent. "Figures." He tossed his cards down and stood, stretching. He had yet to get even one card from someone, and his temper was rising. He decided to go for a short walk. "I'm out."

"See ya," Mike said, grinning bigger than he should be. As Sam walked away, Mike reached across the table and picked through the discarded deck, collecting a pair of twos.

"You've been holding out?" Jason asked, looking at the team prankster. Mike said nothing, but had a hard time wiping the grin off of his face. "Ass." The game continued on, and Ian eventually won. Sam returned and they were setting up another deal when the alarm began.

They all stood, a jolt of adrenaline rushing through each of them. _This was it._ Each of them grabbed the various rucksacks, rifles, and gear that they were bringing along for the deployment, and rushed out of the barracks. Outside, lines of infantrymen in full battle gear jogged toward awaiting helicopters. A select number rushed up the loading ramps of CH-47 Chinooks, each helicopter loaded with a single Humvee hooked to a sling beside it. The Chinooks would lift off slowly, bringing the Humvee with it. The majority of the soldiers jumped in through the side doors of Blackhawks. Reaper team had their own mode of transport, a pair of MH-6 Little Bird's.

The small, bulbous helicopters had seating ramps along the exterior on each side, the interior just big enough for the pilot and copilot, along with a small interior compartment used to carry HVTs and gear. The ramps outside sat up to three to a side, and allowed for an extremely rapid deployment, and the nimble helicopters could land many more places than their larger brethren.

Once the entire force was onboard, the helicopters rose in formation, Little Birds leading the way with the Blackhawks in two separate lines following, and the Chinooks mirroring that in the rear.

Several hundred meters away, Group Captain Hugh Cheshire watched the formation leave with a feeling of satisfaction. While he was impressed with the precision of the flight, he was glad to be rid of the guests he had been forced to host. With the departure of the Americans, he could get back to running the busiest fast-jet air base in the UK.

* * *

Three hours later, in a large field well outside of Hogsmeade, Albus Dumbledore heard the approach of aircraft. He waited patiently, standing in the open, and watched two small helicopters as they neared the ground. They hovered, and eight figures leapt off of the sides, pulling large bags behind them. As soon as they were off, they crouched in a circle around the helicopters, which immediately rose into the air again.

Six of the figures jogged outward into a large circle, while the other two began setting small devices in the grass. In the sky, the pilots of the approaching Blackhawks and Chinooks saw the infrared strobes, signaling the landing site.

Dumbledore watched on as helicopters, two at a time, touched the ground. The men inside spilled out, dragging rucksacks and small equipment with them. Once the men had cleared, the helicopters rose, and another set took their place. In what seemed like an impossibly short time, the circle of soldiers had expanded through a large portion of the field, and the bigger helicopters began their landings.

As each Chinook came in, it landed the Humvee slung underneath on the ground and it continued forward. They touched down several feet in front of the Humvees, dropping the rear loading ramp. Onboard soldiers spilled out, unslinging the ground vehicles as the Chinooks lifted off again. Soon, the entire force was on the ground, and the last of the helicopters flew back the way they came. The ground force was bustling, getting gear set aside, organizing themselves and getting the gear needed for their assignments.

Dumbledore, who patiently watched the whole ordeal from an open area in the clearing, smiled to himself even as a small group headed towards him. It appeared they were incredibly efficient, much more so than many wizards cared to admit or believe. He would have preferred not to involve the muggles in the first place, but given the choice between these soldiers and the dementors, he felt confident that the correct choice was made.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," Colonel Sumner called out, recognizing the old man. "It's good to see you again." They closed the gap and the colonel gestured toward his companions. "This is Major Jacob Price, the commander of the defense force." The major gave a curt nod.

"A pleasure," Dumbledore stated, his eyes twinkling in the rapidly approaching dark. "I am certain we are in capable hands."

"This is Captain Gordon," Sumner said as Gordon took a small step forward. "He is the second in command, and the leader of the special forces team that will be protecting Mr. Potter." Dumbledore bowed his head slightly in greeting, and Sumner continued. "They will be the men to go to if you have any issues or questions."

"Sir, we are ready to secure the castle." Major Price was already down to business, and Dumbledore found he admired that. "I trust the staff is ready?"

"Of course, you may begin as soon as you arrive." Dumbledore stated. He started toward the castle, and was quickly followed by just over a hundred soldiers.

A separate convoy left headed in a different direction as several Humvees holding 4th Platoon and Reaper team broke toward Hogsmeade. Their arrival turned many heads. Hogsmeade was a town that was fully occupied by witches and wizards, and the sight of muggle soldiers and vehicles invading their town, even if it was expected, was something of an event.

The Humvees stopped in positions around Hogsmeade Station, and the soldiers poured out, setting up a perimeter. A pair of Blackhawks, the only two that remained behind after deploying their load of soldiers, hovered overhead, bright spotlights searching the grounds for any sign of a threat.

* * *

Major Price was impressed when he got his first glimpse of the castle. It was massive. They were given a general idea on the size and layout of the castle for the exercises they performed to practice clearing the structure. It felt big then, but seeing it now really drove it home.

"Ready up!" He called to the two platoons with him. His NCOs barked more specific orders to their men and women, and rifles were readied. They did not anticipate finding threats inside the castle _before_ the school year began, but the major would be damned if he would do the job in halves. They wouldn't know for certain the castle was secure until they cleared it completely.

As they made it closer to the entrance hall, several figures stepped outside. Price could only imagine they were the staff.

"Albus," a stern female voice called. Dumbledore bowed his head as the group continued. They met halfway up the steps, and one of the platoon leaders sent a squad to the top of the steps to secure the main entrance.

"Minerva," Dumbledore greeted her as they came to a halt. The major wracked his brain, after a moment remembering who that was. Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, the transfiguration professor and head of Gryffindor house. It was taking a lot to get used to the strange names. "I trust the staff is gathered?"

"Indeed," she replied, eying the group of soldiers with a measure of distaste. They were an unknown, and relying on them seemed wrong to her. While she didn't believe they were necessary, she would honor Dumbledore's agreement. "We are ready to…assist."

"Ma'am," the major interjected himself into the conversation. He had been trained, among other things, in Foreign Internal Defense, or FID, where U.S. soldiers protected foreign nationals inside their home territory. While there were many facets to FID operations, one particularly important one was recognizing the potential resentment. Often times, foreigners did not necessarily _want_ outside help, and were weary of the team. The major recognized the look McGonagall was giving his men, and was determined to change it. "I am Major Jacob Price. I'm in charge of the team here. We appreciate your assistance clearing the castle, and if there is anything we can do to help you throughout the year, please ask."

"Of course," she replied. Her look softened, but not by much. "Shall we get this over with?" She turned and walked toward the door. Lieutenant Dearing, the leader of 2nd Platoon, gave the major a quick look that said ' _ooookay'_ and they followed her.

They executed the clearing with practiced familiarity. Two squads from 1st Platoon secured the outside of the castle, while the rest followed inside. Each squad went a different direction, led by a member of the staff. It was a slow and methodical search as they opened every door, cabinet, and cupboard and searched behind each set of curtains and under every bed. Even the Headmaster's office was searched.

Almost an hour later, the castle was officially declared secure. Outside, the two squads formed checkpoints at the doors, each with a computer that held a master list of whoever was allowed entry. The rest of the soldiers not on checkpoint duty were performing the first set of roving patrols on the school grounds. Inside, Major Price was organizing the interior patrols and checkpoints.

* * *

Harry woke startled. Ron, Neville and Hermione sat around him with worried looks on their faces. It took him a second to remember, then it all flooded back. The cold, the awful creature, the screaming.

"Harry, are you okay?" Neville asked.

"I'm fine," Harry replied a little too quickly, then, "Who screamed? Is everyone okay?" The three faces only grew more concerned, and finally it was Hermione who spoke up.

"Nobody screamed, Harry," she told him, trying to ease his worry and hers at the same time.

"Yeah," Ron said, "That thing opened the door and you started having a fit. It looked like it was gonna grab you off the floor, and that professor caught it with a spell. Sent it running. He's off to talk to the conductor." Ron's explanation filled some of the blanks for Harry, but not all of them.

"So none of you heard a woman scream?" They shook their heads no, but said nothing. "And I passed out? Did anyone else?"

"No, just you, mate," Ron said. They heard footsteps outside, and none of them were pleased to see Draco Malfoy and his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle.

"Is it true, Potter?" He asked, a smirk across his pale face. "Did you really faint?" Crabbe and Goyle laughed, and Ron was the first to reply.

"Shove off," Ron stood up, and Malfoy briefly looked like he would continue the confrontation. Distant footsteps wiped the smile off of his face however.

"I'll see you around." They turned and left, and less than a minute later, Professor Lupin returned. Apparently Malfoy didn't want to start fights in front of a teacher.

"Good, you're awake." Lupin said when he saw Harry upright. He slightly pale and sweaty, and wore shabby robes, though his face wore a pleasant smile. He produced a large bar of chocolate and handed it to Harry. "Eat this, it will help."

"What was that?" Harry had taken the chocolate, but didn't take a bite. He waited for the Professor to sit and answer.

"That was a dementor, one of the guards of Azkaban," he replied seriously. "Eat," he said just as seriously, indicating the bar of chocolate. Harry took a small bite and felt a pleasant warmth through his body. "I believe we are almost there."

As if to punctuate his comment, the train began slowing down. Lupin smiled, then grabbed his case and after a polite goodbye, headed out the door.

" _That was a dementor?_ " Ron said incredulously. "They wanted to put them in the school?" He voiced the same thought that ran through all three of them, though Neville simply looked confused.

As the train came to a stop, they could hear some shouting outside and what sounded almost like a helicopter to Harry. The group made its way outside, pushing into a crowd of students forming at the door, all murmuring to each other.

To Harry's surprise, there were helicopters, along with soldiers everywhere. He was shocked, and for a quick moment wondered if they were about to be killed. He didn't pay much attention to the History of Magic class, but knew that when muggles found out about magic, violence usually ensued.

"Everybody listen up!" someone shouted loudly, and a hush fell over the crowd. One of the soldiers was standing on the back of a military truck, and speaking out to them. "My name is Captain Gordon, I have been tasked with getting you all safely to the school! There is nothing to worry about, we are here to keep you safe." He started waiving toward the waiting carriages, "Let's load up, ladies and gentlemen! Let's go!" He hopped down and the group made their way to the carriages.

Once everyone was loaded, the carriages, escorted by several Humvees and helicopters made the journey to the castle. Most of the students were very quiet, and the few conversations that started were whispered speculations about what was going on.

* * *

"Potter! Granger! I wish to see you immediately!" McGonagall called out as students poured into the entrance hall. It was a slow process, as the students were ogling at the soldiers in front of the massive entrance doors. Harry and Hermione pushed through the crowd and eventually found themselves standing with McGonagall. Harry idly wondered what he had done wrong as he followed them to the Professors office.

"Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead saying you took ill on the train." She eyed him critically, as though looking for the slightest malady he may have. He shifted uncomfortably. Before he could reply, Madam Pomfrey burst through the door. He thought McGonagall looked critical, but it really didn't hold a candle to the gaze of the schools nurse.

"It's you then?" she had seen to Harry every year so far, and getting him so early this year shouldn't have surprised her. She began looking him over, "What adventure was it now?"

"It was dementors," McGonagall informed the nurse, who looked back quickly, as though what she heard was ludicrous. "Dumbledore will be having a discussion with the minister," she spoke quietly, as though doing so would prevent the students from hearing them.

"I see," Pomfrey turned back to Harry, and looked him over once more. "You look remarkably alright… _dementors._ " She muttered it under her breath, an obvious distaste for them. "You should have some chocolate at the very least."

"I've already had some," Harry replied. At the curious look she gave him, he continued. "Professor Lupin gave it to me. A whole bar."

"Finally, a Dark Arts professor that knows his remedies," she said, a look of satisfaction finally crossing her face.

"You're sure that you feel alright?" McGonagall still looked worried. Harry nodded his head, perhaps a little harder than necessary, but the last thing he wanted was to spend time in the hospital wing. He would never hear the end of it.

"Yes, I feel fine."

"Right, please wait outside. I need to have a word with Miss Granger." Hermione, who had been silent, gave Harry a half smile as he stepped outside, thrilled that he wasn't going to have any further embarrassment. Moments later, Hermione stepped out followed by the professor. They made their way down the staircase and to the Great Hall. McGonagall pushed open the door gently and the trio walked through. Professor Flitwick was just pulling the stool and sorting hat out of the hall.

"Oh, we've missed the sorting," Hermione looked distressed. They walked to a pair of open seats next to Ron and sat down. Harry saw Dumbledore stand from his seat, and it was then he noticed that all around the Great Hall, more of the soldiers were standing. There were a couple near the staff table as well. _What was going on?_

"Welcome," he opened his arms in gesturing to the students. His eyes twinkled in the candle light, and he wore the same calm confidence he always had. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. I have a few things to say to you all, some of them very serious, before we become engrossed by an excellent feast…"

He cleared his throat and continued. "As you all have no doubt noticed, we will be playing host to a number of muggle soldiers this year. They are here for the security of the school, and I trust you will all do your very best to make their jobs easier. I would like to introduce you to Colonel Marshall Sumner and Major Jacob Price." Both men stepped forward at the mention of their names, and Dumbledore took his seat again. Sumner looked briefly surprised, but recovered quickly and cleared his own throat.

"I'm Colonel Sumner. I am the commander of the Task Force that will be handling security this year. We are here for your protection, and you have nothing to fear from us. We will do our best to keep things as smooth as possible for you all, and we ask that you do the same. Don't make the mistake of thinking that because we aren't witches and wizards, that we cannot handle ourselves. If you see or hear _anything_ out of the ordinary, please don't hesitate to alert one of us. If you have any questions, please ask. Major Price here will be the on-site commander and Captain Gordon," he gestured at the captain, who stood at the mention of his name, "will be his second in command. Again, please do not hesitate to alert us of anything out of the ordinary. Thank you."

As the soldiers stepped down, Dumbledore stood again, clapping. The rest of the school followed suit.

 _So they are here for security._ Harry thought back to the conversation he overheard. _Muggles protecting Hogwarts, that must be what has Fudge so irritated._

"Thank you," Dumbledore stopped clapping as the men took seats, and looked out on the students. "Outside of Hogwarts grounds, the dementors of Azkaban are patrolling. They are on Ministry of Magic business, and I must urge each and every one of you to avoid them. They are not fooled by tricks or disguises, nor invisibility cloaks…" he added the last comment nonchalantly, though Harry had a pretty good idea who he was talking about, "and it is not in their nature to understand excuses or pleading. Therefore, I caution you all, do not give them any excuse to harm you. With the exception of students attending the visits to Hogsmeade, no students are to leave Hogwarts grounds." He looked over them seriously for a moment, then his eyes twinkled once again and he continued.

"On a lighter note, I would like to welcome Professor Remus Lupin," the professor stood and bowed his head at the mention of his name. There was a general murmur at the Slytherin table, and Harry guessed they were not impressed by the ratty robes. The rest of the staff were in much finer robes, and Lupin stood out. "Our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"As to our second appointment," Dumbledore went on as Lupin sat again. "Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures professor, retired at the end of last year, keen to spend some time enjoying his remaining limbs. I am pleased to announce that the post will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has accepted the assignment along with his regular duties as groundskeeper." Hagrid stood at the mention of his name as well, but unlike the others, his size caused him to bump the table he sat at, knocking down several goblets. He gave a quick smile to Harry as the students clapped, with a lot less enthusiasm from the Slytherins, then returned to his seat.

"I believe that leaves me with one more thing to address," Dumbledore smiled. "Dig in." He sat, and food appeared on the platters adorning each table. Goblets filled with pumpkin juice, and the delighted students didn't hesitate. It wasn't until the platters were almost empty that the headmaster stood again, dismissing the satiated students to their dormitories. Harry, Ron and Hermione stayed a moment to congratulate Hagrid, then left for Gryffindor tower. They had made it just outside the Great Hall when a group of soldiers stopped them.

"Harry?" one of them asked, stepping forward from the group. He looked almost young enough to be in school himself.

"Er… yeah?" Harry wasn't sure what else to say.

"I'm Captain Gordon, you can call me Brad." He extended his hand for a shake, which Harry took after hesitating for a second. Brad gestured toward the individuals around him, "I'm the leader of Reaper team." The look on the trio's faces indicated they had no idea what that meant, so he continued. "We are a Special Forces outfit, better trained than most soldiers. My team was tasked with the safety of you three, it sounds like this Sirius Black guy might try to come after you. I just wanted to introduce myself. If there is anything you guys need, just let us know. We will be nearby."

"Er, thanks…" Harry said, a little disconcerted. _How is it that I get special attention every year?_

"Anytime. Well, don't let me keep you. I'm sure you all are tired." The soldiers left, and Harry, Ron and Hermione left for Gryffindor tower, all the while talking about the new developments.


	9. Just Getting Started

AN - Wow, 1400 views! Thank you all. I hope things are getting more interesting for you as a reader as we go on, I know I am enjoying the writing it the more I go along. Please feel free to leave a comment on what you think, the good and the bad, otherwise I don't know what might need improvement.

* * *

Harry woke the next morning feeling much better. The previous day had been long, much more eventful than he had hoped for. He got dressed after waking a still snoring Ron, and they met Hermione in the common room.

"Morning," Harry called as they neared her, her bushy hair the only portion of her head they could see past the book she was studying. _Arithmancy 101._ Harry idly wondered how she got up so early to study.

"Oh, hello," she put the book down, marking the page and stood up. "I was just doing a little morning study." She straightened her skirt as Ron gave her an incredulous look.

"Sure, nothing like an invigorating study session to wake you up." Ron shook his head in disbelief, certain he could never understand her passion for schoolwork.

"Let's go, shall we?" she stuffed the Arithmancy book into her bag, already packed with an incredible pile, and started toward the exit. They boys followed close behind.

They made it to the Great Hall in time to hear a burst of laughter from the Slytherin table. There was a group standing around Malfoy, who appeared to be mimicking fainting. They looked toward the newcomers to the hall, and one called out.

"Potter!" It was Pansy Parkinson, a short and not-so attractive girl that followed Malfoy anywhere she could, and if the rumors were true, several places she shouldn't. "Potter, you'd better watch out! The dementors could get you, _whooooooooo!"_ Harry sighed inwardly, but ignored the jab and its ensuing laughter. They sat at the Gryffindor table.

It wasn't until he sat that he realized that the Great Hall was a little different. The tables were pushed towards each other ever so slightly, leaving room at the far corner for a small table. There were soldiers seated at the table eating, while several others wearing the distinct battle gear stood around the hall.

"They were here when we made it down too." George said, passing the three of them papers. Harry opened his. Across the top read _Third Year Schedule._ He scanned it quickly, and looked back at the soldiers.

"So I didn't just dream that?" Ron asked, grabbing a stack of toast and bacon. He had wasted little time, the habit of a younger brother in a large family. Waiting could mean the difference between eating bacon and eating a second helping of steamed vegetables at home, and he kept the habit at school, much to the amusement of his friends though the food at school seldom ran low.

"I can't exactly blame Dumbledore," Hermione was spreading marmalade on her toast as she spoke. "Can you imagine dementors in the school? Better this…" she trailed off, taking a bite.

"Yeah," Harry stopped staring at the extra table, opting instead to catch up on breakfast. Eggs, bacon, toast and a particularly delicious sliced ham were all scooped to his plate, and he decided to actually check out the class schedule. "Divination first today."

Just then, the doors to the Great Hall banged open, and Hagrid walked in. He stopped by as he passed the Gryffindor table.

"Yer in my firs' lesson, righ' after lunch! Been up since five gettin' ready." He wore a large grin across his face. It was no secret, at least to Harry and his friends, that Hagrid had a special place in his heart for magical creatures. Getting the teaching position, especially for that class was nothing short of a dream come true for the large man. "Me…a teacher…hones'ly…" he was mumbling to himself as he continued on toward the staff table.

"Well we ought to get going," Hermione said after they had all finished eating. "The divination tower is a long walk from here. The three stood up and started for the door, and Harry noted that the soldiers at the table stood too, apparently finished with their food. He recognized one of them, Captain Gordon. The captain said something to his men, and they nodded. Two of them jogged away, heading straight toward Harry and his friends.

"Hey, man," one called out. Harry stopped, and his friends followed suit. He wasn't sure what this would be about, but figured he could at least be polite. "How's it going?" The two soldiers had caught up, and the talking one wore a large grin. The other was a hulking form and while he looked friendly enough, Harry thought he could break someone in half if he wanted.

"Er…" Harry stared at the duo for a moment. They weren't dressed in the full gear worn by the many other soldiers patrolling the school. They had different fatigues on, and the muscular one was only in a tan undershirt, which looked like it was straining to cover his large form. They both had belts with various gear and each with a handgun. They weren't as 'uniform' as the other troops, but they definitely stood out. "Alright, I guess?"

"Great," the grinning one said, holding out a hand, which Harry hesitantly took. The man grabbed it and shook hard. "I'm Mike, this here…" he hooked a thumb toward the muscular one, "is Ian. We are gonna hang with you guys for your first couple classes." They stared at each other for a moment, Mike still looking happier than anyone Harry had ever seen. At least on a school morning.

"Erm…that's great." Hermione finally broke the silence, giving Mike a hesitant smile back. He took the smile as an affirmation of welcome, and inserted himself between Harry and Hermione, energetically wrapping an arm around each of their shoulders and starting the group toward class. A surprised Ron hurriedly followed and an amused Ian took up the rear of the gang.

"So, where are we headed?" Mike asked as Hermione politely removed herself from under his arm, Harry quickly following suit.

"Divination…" Ron sounded off glumly as he caught back up, taking the chance to insert himself back into the conversation. He was not particularly excited for divination, but his other option was Arithmancy, the study of magical numerology. Ron would sooner spend the night cuddling Aragog than choose such an intensive course.

"Sounds awesome." Mike said, still grinning ear to ear. Hermione eyed him warily as they headed up the staircase towards the classroom.

"Er…are you always so excited about class?" she asked, trying to sound conversational. In truth, she had not seen someone so excited about school work, and it had piqued her interest.

"Not remotely," Mike replied cheerfully, "but we were tasked with the morning patrol. A long one, around the school grounds. But, the Captain wants us getting familiar with things here, so while they work hard, I will sit and learn to…divine?" He finished the last word, not sure what exactly divination was. Hermione laughed and Ron and Harry were smiling, his cheerfulness infectious.

On arrival at the tower, they climbed up the ladder one after another and found seats. Mike and Ian, not wanting to disrupt the class, sat down in the back quietly.

* * *

Captain Bradley Gordon arched his back under the load of his combat pack. No matter how you load, how you distribute the weight, a kit was still heavy. The rest of his team, save Ian and Mike, were outfitted similarly, in preparation for the patrol they were about to embark on. They were performing their final weapons checks.

Brad racked the charging handle, chambering a round, then checked the bottom of the magazine. A red stripe, indicating the stunning spell the ammunition was enchanted with. They carried a standard loadout of three magazines of stunning rounds, one magazine of disarming ammunition and two magazines of live ammo for their rifles. Their sidearms were equipped with magazines loaded with _Incarcerous_ rounds, which would bind the target in ropes. The idea being that they could stun or disarm their targets, then take time to bind them. The live ammunition was a last resort, but they were determined not to be caught without lethal capabilities.

Satisfied that his gear was in order, he gave his guys a once over. They had performed these checks so many times it was almost muscle memory at this point. Once they all were ready they started toward the entrance hall from their "armory," an empty classroom on the first floor that was now loaded with gear.

The task force had taken several empty rooms over. On the third floor a command and control room they commonly referred to as "C3," for Command, Control and Communication, was created out of an old and unused storage room. It was large enough to fit the computers and communications equipment needed to successfully run operations. Major Price was often in that room, or his office just down the hall. His orders could be relayed by the operations commander, under the call sign Kingpin.

On the same floor, just past Major Price's room, were the rest of the officers' quarters. Most were smaller storage or class rooms that were converted. Not the most comfortable, but it was better than being outside. Getting up and down the stairs had been a struggle without the direct supervision of a teacher or experienced student, and someone had gone through the trouble of putting a chart marking which stairs were tricks. After a concerned conversation with the headmaster about the staircases changing direction on them, Dumbledore responded that he would ask politely for them to behave. No one was sure what exactly that meant, but now when the soldiers needed to get from point a to point b, the stairs were stationary.

A pair of large classrooms that were previously unused on the third floor were turned into barracks, where the soldiers of Bravo Company were given sleeping and relaxation quarters. They were cramped, given that over two hundred people were living in them, but given the shift schedules it was usually not that full.

The ground floor contained the armory, a large storage closet that used to hold extra Quidditch equipment. After a harrowing battle with a pair of ghouls inhabiting the room, and a little assistance from some of the staff after the ghouls unleashed a set of bludgers on the invaders, they filled it with various weapons and gear.

"Kingpin, Reaper," Gordon spoke into the mic as the team exited the large entrance hall doors, "Reaper is Oscar-Mike." Oscar-Mike was military slang for 'on the move,' using the phonetic alphabet for 'on' and 'move.'

"Kingpin copies, Oscar-Mike." The radio went silent, and the operators descended the stairs and out toward the lake. Their patrol would start to the southeast along the edge of the lake until it met the Forbidden Forest, at which point they would follow the edge of the forest north, then west as it wrapped around the school, until they came across the school's gate. They would follow along the gate back south until they had hooked around the school and were headed back towards the Great Lake again. The patrol was expected to take about four hours, taking them right to lunch.

"Hell of a place," Jason Steele spoke up as they reached the edge of the Great Lake. In the distance, something large broke the surface and dove immediately again. There was a lot they had yet to learn about the magical world, and heaven only knew what it was they just saw. He was right though, Hogwarts was a beautiful place, and if he dared to use the term, magical. The grounds were sprawling and green, the lake pristine and beautiful. Hogwarts castle itself was massive, and he couldn't imagine the place could have been constructed _without_ magic. Some of the towers seemed too tall to stay up without support. Yet there it was, plain for the eye to see.

"Hell of a place," Brad replied, agreeing completely. It was a moment before he realized the entire patrol had paused and was staring out at the lake. It was truly enchanting, and he imagined he would probably be spending some of his down time out here. "Let's get a move on, gents." The spell broken, they continued on the patrol, rifles hanging in relaxed hands.

It took them almost 45 minutes to follow the edge of the lake west to the Forbidden Forest, where they turned to the north. As they followed the edge of the wood line, each of them tightened their grip subconsciously on their weapons. Though none of them noticed anything out of the ordinary, the forest had an unmistakable vibe of 'something is watching you' and the operators were used to being the ones doing the watching. Being on the receiving end, even if they couldn't _really_ tell for certain, was an unfamiliar feeling. Not one of them enjoyed it.

It was a welcome relief when they reached a small cabin near the edge of the forest. Outside in a large pumpkin patch, a truly massive man with long bushy hair and a shaggy beard was stringing together a bunch of small squirrel like animals.

"Morning," Gordon called out, and the great man turned to look. He had been so focused on stringing the dead animals together that he hadn't noticed the approaching soldiers, and the look was evident on his face. "I didn't get a chance to congratulate you on the promotion…" he trailed off, trying to remember the man's name.

"Rubeus Hagrid," he replied, puffing his chest at the mention of the promotion. He walked to the edge of the pumpkin patch where the rest of Reaper team was standing. "An' you are?" he extended one of his hands for a handshake and Gordon took it.

"Captain Bradley Gordon," Brad furrowed his brow at the handshake. It was firm, but calling it a handshake didn't quite do it justice. Hagrid's hand had completely encased his own, and Brad couldn't help but smile at it. Hagrid had to be eight or nine feet tall. "This is Reaper team," he indicated the men standing around him, who gave various acknowledgements. "You excited for your first day then?" Gordon looked past Hagrid, at the strung-up animals. He knew that the class was Care of Magical Creatures, and he had to admit that those strung up critters looked a little past the point of being cared for.

"Oh, it's gonna be a righ' treat, it is." Hagrid enthusiastically replied. He walked back to his strung animals, "Food, for the Hippogriffs. You ought ter come by, they're fascinatin' creatures, Hippogriffs."

"When?" Brad asked, and finished the rest of the sentence in his mind. _And what exactly in the hell is a hippogriff._ His mental image was a cross between a hippopotamus and some kind of bird, which almost made him laugh. It was comical, and he figured that there was no way it was accurate.

"Righ' after lunch," Hagrid strung another of the small creatures, and Brad decided he may give it a shot. They should be done with the patrol by lunch, and frankly he was curious how far off his mental image was.

"We'll try and make it," the captain started back toward the forest to continue the patrol. "Till later." The team followed and as they reached the edge, they headed east again.

Brad was nearing the greenhouses which housed Professor Sprout's classes, when his radio kicked to life.

"Dagger 3-1, Stalker," Gordon and his unit stopped, listening to the exchange. Dagger was 2nd Platoons' call sign, and there was a squad from that platoon on patrol in the Forbidden Forest. Stalker was their UAV. "Be advised, multiple heat signatures approaching rapidly. Approximately platoon strength." The canopy of the forest was thick, and the UAV had to use infrared to see anything through it.

"Up to fifty _somethings_ coming after them?" Sanderson asked out, the entire team hearing the warning. They heard the squad leader call for defensive positions and request reinforcements. They were still learning a lot about their new environment, and no one was certain what to expect.

Brad pulled up his SOLDA, selecting the drone feed. He could see that his team was close, at least as close as could be expected, given that they were not in the forest. He shut off the feed, having already plotted the direction they needed to go in his mind.

"Reaper team responding, ETA is less than five." The entire team shouldered their rifles and started a steady run into the woods. They were not about to rush headlong into whatever this situation turned into, but speed was necessary.

"Contact left," someone from the pinned squad called over the radio.

"Lost it," another said. The team quickened their pace until they were getting near, then slowed to a fast walk. They stayed in visual range of each other, and as soon as Brad saw someone from the pinned squad, he shouted.

"Blue, blue, blue!" The code was used to announce that they were friendly, a more professional version of 'Don't shoot, I'm with you!' Brad and his team spread into the line of soldiers, Brad taking a position near the squad leader. "What do you guys have?"

"Not sure," the squad leader replied, still eying the trees around them. "Keep getting a glimpse of something, then it's gone."

"Let's get ready to bug out-" Brad was cut short by multiple announcements of 'contact!' and raised his own rifle at the approaching figures, though no one fired. Colonel Sumner's last words before he departed back to RAF Lossiemouth rang in his mind. _We are already distrusted by the magical community here. Your primary objective is to keep your guys alive, but don't go burning bridges. We need friends, so put on your friendly faces and build up some good will. Hearts and minds, guys._

"You're trespassing!" the closest of the figures called out. It took Brad's mind a moment to process, but what he thought were men on horseback, cavalry, were actually part-man part-horse. _Centaurs? Why not…_

"This is Captain Gordon, United States Army!" Gordon called out, standing cautiously. They were definitely outnumbered, though he thought they still had the edge in firepower. There were a lot of bows pointed at them, many of them at Brad himself, but he was hoping to avoid a firefight. "We are here keeping Hogwarts safe, this was a patrol for the safety of the school. Nothing more!"

"We aren't interested in your reasoning, human." It was a different centaur this time, with a full head of red hair and a matching beard. "Humans are not allowed on our grounds…" the centaur flexed his bow menacingly, at which Brad reflexively tightened his rifle to his shoulder. Deciding to ignore the second centaur, he continued speaking to the first one.

"We aren't here to threaten your territory. If you give us an idea of where your boundaries are, I can make sure we don't cross them again." The first centaur stared at him for a moment, before the second spoke up again.

"Firenze, we should kill them where they stand." The first centaur, _Firenze,_ looked at his companion. Before he could respond, Gordon cut back in. This was getting out of hand.

"A battle isn't in anyone's best interest," he started, and Firenze looked back at him, continuing to contemplate. "Make no mistake…we don't want a fight, but we will finish one. Give us the boundary and let us be on our way, this doesn't need to end in bloodshed."

"Go now," Firenze pointed through the woods, back to the castle. "We shall speak another time, under less…stressful circumstances. Do not come to this part of the forest again, we will not be so forgiving."

"Fall back, Reaper take up the rear." The troops didn't need to be told twice, and immediately headed back south toward the castle, rifles ready in case they broke the uneasy ceasefire. The second centaur looked torn between wanting to kill the soldiers and wanting to attack Firenze, clearly unhappy with the arrangement. "We will continue patrolling the forest east of the castle, and will be along the tree line south of here. Contact us whenever you're ready, and again…we apologize for the misunderstanding." Gordon backed away as he was speaking, watching for any sign of hostility. The centaurs didn't move a muscle. As soon as they were clear, they turned and made for the edge of the forest, where they regrouped and headed for the castle to meet with Major Price about the development.

* * *

Brad cleared from the meeting with Major Price just in time for lunch. He regrouped with Mike and Ian in the Great Hall, and the troops sat at their table, enjoying the food that appeared. The rest of the soldiers ate while students were in class, so as not to disrupt everyone. Reaper team was eating with them, since they were supposed to try to 'blend.' It was easier on paper, being that they were muggle outsiders in strange uniforms that ate at a separate table, but it was what was decided.

"Centaurs huh?" Mike said, digging in to a pile of mashed potatoes that threatened to spill from his plate, it was piled so high. "They sound like douchebags." Leave it to Mike…

"Well they saw us in their home, and weren't happy," Brad replied, taking a bite of a large sandwich of some kind. He didn't know what it was, but it was piled with meat, so it was good enough for him. "Price wasn't happy, but we canceled the patrols in that area. Sounds like Dumbledore probably knows where their boundaries are anyways, so we are going to patrol around them."

"Well, we found out Harry is going to die," Mike said energetically. Ian rolled his eyes at the comment, and Brad looked to Ian for the real story.

"Divination is supposed to be some kind of future seeing, palm reading deal. Harry's tea cup had a Grim or something, teacher went ballistic. Professor McGonagall said she does that every year though." Ian obviously didn't believe the prediction, and Mike seemed mostly amused by it.

"So what's next, boss?" Mike reached across the table to pick up one of the large sandwiches.

"We are going to go to Care of Magical Creatures with Gryffindor and Slytherin." Gordon relayed the invitation by Hagrid, along with the fact that they would be outside in the beautiful weather. Mike looked enthusiastic, having thoroughly enjoyed the first classes he had attended. It was amazing going to class and not being obligated to pay any attention, even if it was mostly interesting to watch.

They finished their food much quicker than anyone else in the Great Hall, a lifetime of military training dictating that faster was better. Once the rest of the school caught up, they were dismissed from lunch and students began heading to classes. The soldiers of Reaper team followed a large group of Gryffindor students at a respectful distance until they arrived at Hagrid's hut. The new arrivals seemed to meander around the gate to the pumpkin patch until Hagrid stepped outside.

"Well, c'mon now, hurry up!" he bellowed, calling everyone to gather. They did so as he continued talking. "Good ter see ya, Captain. Everyone 'ere?" He looked around and smiled, obviously satisfied that they were all present. "Le's go, got a great lesson comin' up!" He turned and walked toward the edge of the forest, the strung animals hung over his back.

The Gryffindor students were the first to move, Harry, Ron and Hermione following almost immediately. Slytherins' reluctant students followed, with Reaper team bringing up the rear. Five minutes later, they were in a paddock of sorts.

"C'mon up to the gate, tha's it." Hagrid waved his arms, beckoning them closer. "Alrigh' the firs' thing ya want ter do is open yer books-"

"How?" a cold voice interrupted the professor from the Slytherin group. Brad looked over, surprised at the immediate disrespect, but couldn't peg who had done it.

"Eh?" was Hagrid's only reply.

"How do we open the books?" it was the same voice, and this time Brad could see him. He was a pale, blonde boy who wore a sneering, disrespectful look on his face. The boy took out his book, a large one that appeared to be covered in fur and was wrapped in a rope.

"Hasn' anyone bin able ter open 'em?" he looked a little disappointed when no one spoke up. "Yeh've got ter _stroke_ em." He pulled a book from a nearby student and demonstrated, the book opening with ease afterwards.

"Oh, how silly…" Malfoy started, an incredulous look on his face. "We should have _stroked_ them, of course!" There was a small burst of laughter out of the Slytherin group.

"I though' they were funny," Hagrid said to Hermione, who wore a sympathetic look but didn't exactly agree.

"Yeah, hilarious. They-" Malfoys comments were cut off.

"Cool it with the commentary, kid." Brad called sharply, and Malfoy looked taken aback for a second. He'd had enough of the little brat. Malfoy opened his mouth with a retort, but Brad beat him to it. "We are here for class, listen to your professor. Now." He turned back to Hagrid, who wore a grateful look, and gestured the great man to continue.

"Er, thanks," he said. "Now, ya got yer books, so…now we need yer creatures…I'll be back." He turned and walked into the woods and out of sight.

"Ooooooh!" one of the girls in the Gryffindor group squealed pointing to the woods where Hagrid had left moments before. Walking toward them, behind Hagrid, were some of the strangest creatures Brad had ever seen.

They had the body, hind legs, and tail of a horse, but the front legs, chest, and head of what looked like an eagle. _Nothing like a hippopotamus_.

"Beau'iful, aren' they?" Hagrid smiled at the group, who looked on hesitantly. "Hippogriffs!" he announced after no one said anything. He rubbed his hands together and then beckoned the group towards him. "So, if ya want ter come closer…"

Most of the group stayed put, but Harry, Ron and Hermione edged cautiously closer. Mike edged a little closer as well, eying the creature curiously.

"Righ', now the firs' thing ya ought ter know," Hagrid started, and Brad thought he looked almost like Steve Irwin, obviously in his element with wild creatures, "is they're a proud race. Easily offended, hippogriffs are. Yeh should never insult one, migh' be the last thing ya do."

The hippogriff nearest Hagrid pecked its head downward, then twisted it to the side, inspecting the group of students with a solid black eye.

"Ya always let a hippogriff make the firs' move," he continued. "It's polite. You walk toward 'im, bow, an' wait. If 'e bows back, ya can touch 'im. If not…well we'll talk abou' that in a bit."

"Now," Hagrid clapped his hands excitedly and looked to the nearest hippogriff, "Who wants ter go firs'?" The students, save Harry, collectively took a step back. Hagrid turned back to see Harry standing closer, and smiling widely.

"Good man, Harry!" he beamed. Harry took a hesitant step forward and Brad heard one of the girls from Gryffindor whisper 'What about his tea leaves? Oh no-' which caused him a brief smile.

Harry stepped to the hippogriff, who Hagrid introduced as Buckbeak, and bowed under the direction of Hagrid. The hippogriff stared at him for a moment, then bowed.

"Excellen'!" he shouted, clapping Harry on the back. Harry closed the distance to the hippogriff and stroked its feathers lightly. "Righ' well, I reckon 'e migh' let ya ride 'im." Harry turned, a shocked look on his face, before Hagrid hoisted him up and onto the large creature. It squawked briefly and Hagrid clapped its rear, causing it to rush forward, extend its wings and take flight. Brad caught a brief view of Harry hanging on for dear life.

His initial thought was to wonder if Harry was going to be safe up there. Thinking on it for a moment, he remembered Hagrid was a close friend of Harry's who wouldn't intentionally put him in danger. And if Sirius Black wanted to get at Harry up there, it'd be a hell of a moving target.

"Damn," Mike muttered, "magic school is badass." They watched Harry fly around the castle and back, and the hippogriff landed gracefully back in the paddock.

"Outstandin' Harry, righ' good work!" Hagrid exclaimed, pulling Harry down. Many of the students from Gryffindor were clapping, and Brad found himself doing the same. Mike was right, this school was nothing if not exciting. "Who else wan's ter go?"

The rest of the class climbed into the paddock, and Brad heard Mike say something about wanting to give it a shot. The blonde asshole, Malfoy, and a crew of his friends were standing around Buckbeak, just in earshot of Brad. Malfoy bowed and Buckbeak bowed back.

"This was really easy," Malfoy said as he stroked the hippogriff's beak. "You're not really dangerous at all, are you? You great, ugly brute." There was a flash of steel grey talons, and Malfoy was on his back, gripping his arm as blood pooled out. Hagrid wrestled the hippogriff back as Brad and the rest of the team hopped the fence. Grimes knelt down, pulling out his Infantry First Aid Kit and struggled with the Slytherin to get to the bleeding wound on his arm.

"I'm dying!" he called out, writhing under Eric, who was rapidly losing patience. Ian saw the trouble he was having and bent down, lending some muscle. Under the newfound grip of one of the team's bodybuilders, Malfoy found himself unable to move. Eric expertly placed a hemostatic gauze pad over the gash on his arm and tightly wrapped it.

"Come on," Brad heaved the boy up on to his feet. "We will get you to the hospital wing." Malfoy looked like he would swing at one of them, obviously not wanting the escort. The pain in his arm won out however, and he followed, leaving a stunned class behind.

When they left the hospital ward, Malfoy was still hollering about how he had almost died, trying to illicit sympathy from the growing crowd of Slytherin students visiting him.

"Dick-" Mike muttered as they headed to the barracks.

* * *

Harry hesitated for a moment, then knocked on the door to Hagrid's hut. Beside him, Ron and Hermione stood with matching worried looks on their faces. The Care of Magical Creatures class had ended rather abruptly after Malfoy insulted Buckbeak and got attacked, and Hagrid was missing from dinner.

"C'min." The sullen reply would have been too quiet for them to hear, were it not for the fact that Hagrid had such a booming voice to begin with. It was near impossible for the man to be quiet. They pushed the door open.

Hagrid was sitting at the table with a jug of what looked like some kind of alcohol, judging by the man's drunken appearance. Fang sat with his head on Hagrid's lap, looking on sullenly.

"S'pect it ought ter be a record," he seemed to be speaking to the jug, but the trio listened on. "I don' think there's been a professor to las' jus' a day."

"You haven't been fired yet, Hagrid!" gasped Hermione.

"Not yet," Hagrid replied miserably, taking a large gulp of whatever pungent liquid was in the jug. "On'y a matter o' time, I reckon. After Malfoy…"

"How is he?" Harry asked, not so much out of interest for Malfoy's wellbeing, but as a way to gauge how serious things were.

"It wasn't that bad, was it?" Ron asked, taking a seat at the other end of the table. Fang stirred, but didn't move from his place at Hagrid's lap.

"Madam Pomfrey an' the muggles did wha' they could." Hagrid took another swig and continued, "He's sayin' he's still in pain…covered in bandages."

"He's faking it!" Harry said it forcefully, perhaps a little louder than necessary. It almost made his blood boil, to see the little git putting on a show like that. "You can trust Malfoy to milk it for all it's worth."

"It's Malfoy's fault! We all heard you, hippogriffs attack if you insult them." Hermione edged closer to Hagrid as she spoke. "We will back you up." She put a small hand on his shoulder.

"I s'pose yer right." He looked up at her with teary eyes and sighed heavily.

"I think you've had enough to drink." She picked up the jug and walked outside with it to dump the contents. He nodded his head in agreement, sat up clumsily, and followed her outside.

 _Splash_! Hermione came back inside and put the jug away as Ron and Harry tried to see what the splash was.

"He dunked his head in the water barrel," she said, answering their unasked question. A moment later Hagrid reentered, head dripping with water.

"Tha's better." He wrung his beard and started getting the excess water out of his hair. "It was good of yeh ter come and see…" He stopped for a moment, a look of dawning across his face.

"WHAT D'YEH THINK YER DOIN' 'ERE!?" He bellowed, startling the trio, who all jumped from their seats. "YER NOT TO BE WANDERIN' OUTSIDE AFTER DARK!" He gathered them and escorted them to the castle, everyone in an awkward silence.

"Yer not to go doin' this again," Hagrid said as they reached the entrance hall. A pair of soldiers manning the checkpoint at the door watched on but said nothing. "I'm not worth that. Get ter bed." Hagrid turned and left, and the trio headed to Gryffindor tower.


	10. The Centaurs

AN – Folks, I really apologize for how long it took me to update this. It has not been abandoned. There was a death in my family, followed by the near-rupturing of my appendix. Currently recovering from the surgery, and I have a little time to get back at this. Grandma, this chapter is for you.

Thank you all for the support for this story, I've been blown away by the number of readers. Enjoy

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, Malfoy was making a spectacle of his condition. He talked loudly about how he had been 'mauled' and detailed what his father was going to do about it. Brad also noted that Hagrid was absent from the morning meal. It seemed he took the situation poorly, which was too bad. There was not much more the professor could have done.

"I don't get how that little bastard can go on like that." Mike had been going on about it since they dropped Malfoy off at the infirmary. "He clearly didn't follow the instructions, and paid the price. Serves him right."

"Now, Sergeant," Brad started, using his mock official tone. To the outside observer, it might sound like an official reprimand. Those who spent a fair amount of time with Brad knew better. It was more of a 'you can't do X with such-in-so around' voice. "You aren't suggesting that he _should_ be attacked by a hippogriff, right?"

"Of course not, boss," Mike replied rolling his eyes ever so slightly and picking up a strip of bacon. "Just saying, it was no secret that you shouldn't insult the things."

"Ah, damn it!" There was a _thump_ at the table as Jason's knuckles smacked against it, his arm flat under Ian's, who was grinning wildly. Ian and Jason were at it again, arm wrestling.

"Can't stop these guns, bro." Ian faked kissing his bicep and Jason threw the rest of a biscuit at him. They both laughed and got back to eating. The few students that had turned their heads at the spectacle turned back to their food, more interested in their own conversations than whatever the muggles were up to.

"Jesus, does it ever stop with you two?" Staff Sergeant Sam Nelson had never been a morning person. His abnormally short fuse seemed to be shorter still in the wee hours of the day. He pinched between his eyes as though nursing a headache, and then went to take a sip of his coffee. Ian and Jason ignored him, already locking arms in another battle.

"Come on, man," Mike clapped Sam on the back, causing a splash of coffee to land on his lap. Sam slammed his cup to the table in his irritation, spilling more still as he picked up a napkin to clean the mess.

"You careless mother-" Sam's words were cut off by a boot to the knee from Ryan, who was often looking out for Sam and ensuring the outbursts didn't make it too far. Sam trusted and respected Ryan for his no-nonsense approach to everything in life, and was glad to be on Ryan's fireteam. The sergeant first class had noticed Major Price incoming, and issued the kick to keep the short-fused operator in check. Mike sat back feigning confident relaxation while Sam bit his lip to prevent an outburst, red in the face.

"Major, to what do we owe the pleasure?" Gordon asked as soon as Price was close enough to the table. The major was silent for a moment, eyeing the still red faced staff sergeant with a look of questioning.

"The centaurs made contact with Dumbledore, God knows how…" Major Price was, like the rest of the Spartans, still working to get a grasp on the complexities and limitations of magic. "They want to meet at 1000 hours. It'll be your team, me, and Dumbledore. We will follow the Headmaster to the meeting location."

"Copy," Brad said. The meeting yesterday had been tense, and he hoped the centaurs were more relaxed this time around. "I was going to send a pair with Harry to his classes again today, do we need my whole team present at the meet?" The major paused to consider it, then shook his head.

"No, go ahead and send them. I'm confident in our firepower, and I doubt it'll descend into a firefight with the headmaster there." There was a nod of agreement from the team, and the major left.

"That was fast…" Mike broke the silence first, "I expected them to just ignore us."

"Guess not," Gordon looked across at his team. "Eric and David, you guys go with Harry to class. The rest of us will take the morning, and at 0900 prep for the meeting." Mike looked a little crestfallen, he had really enjoyed the classes yesterday, and had been dropping very unsubtle hints to the captain that he wanted to go again.

They dug back into their food, the day's objectives set.

* * *

A couple tables away, Harry and his friends were working at their own breakfasts. Hermione was working on a slice of toast while Harry and Ron were putting a dent in the plate of eggs.

"I'm just saying, _I_ thought he was very nice," Hermione said. They had been talking about the presence of the soldiers yesterday.

"Of course _you_ did," Ron fought the words out through a mouthful of eggs. "He was actually interested in the classes. Like a dream come true…" Ron took another large bite of his meal, not noticing Hermione's glowing cheeks before she buried her head in _A History of Magic, Volume III_.

"Great," Harry, who had been paying very little attention to the conversation, set his fork down loudly. "We have double potions this morning…with Slytherin." Aside from Slytherin, no one really liked potions, mostly due to the Professor. Snape was in a league of his own with regard to favoritism, letting Slytherin students get away with just about anything while punishing other students for the most minor infractions.

"Wonderful," Ron sighed, "because we didn't get enough of _that_ lot yesterday." He looked over at a platter next to Hermione, empty save a couple strips of bacon. "You gonna eat those?"

"Go ahead," she said, pushing the platter towards him. He hardly waited, snatching the two strips off of the plate. She eyed him with a look of distaste, then got back to her book.

"Hey, guys!" Mike appeared between the heads of Ron and Hermione, making both jump slightly. He seemed not to notice, "What's up?"

"Oh, hello," Hermione responded lamely, closing her book and turning to face Mike. "Er, just finishing breakfast." She drooped her shoulders slightly, unimpressed by her own response. Mike however seemed unfazed and smiled broadly at her. A faint pink formed in Hermione's cheeks.

"I love breakfast," he said, then stood up. He gestured toward a similarly dressed pair standing near them. They were dressed similarly to the rest of Reaper team. Not in full uniforms, but still toting various gear and gun belts. "This is Eric," Mike gestured toward the closest man. Hermione recognized him as the one who worked on Malfoy yesterday when he was first injured. He was handsome, short cropped brown hair and deep hazel eyes. If she hadn't known better, she might imagine he was a model. He wore the same fatigue pants as the rest of the special operators, and a tan undershirt that suggested a well-toned body. His gun belt wrapped snugly around his waist. Eric smiled warmly, but said nothing.

"And this is David," he gestured similarly toward the other. This one was taller than the other, wearing the full fatigue set, and his gun belt did not hang as perfectly. He wore thickly rimmed glasses and looked uncomfortable at the introduction, choosing to simply stand there as Mike talked. "They will be hanging with you guys this morning throughout class."

"You might change your mind," Ron warned while chewing a mouthful of bacon. "We have double potions with Slytherin." Mike stared at him for a moment, determining that this was a _bad_ thing.

"Bummer," was the only response Mike could think up. Potions didn't sound too bad, but from the tone of Ron and the glum looks he saw from the other Gryffindors, he might be alone in that. "A History of Magic, huh?" Ron rolled his eyes and got back to his food, while Harry took another look at the two operators that would attend class with him, and got back to his own food.

"Just a little extra reading," she replied a little defensively. She was used to getting made fun of for her joy of learning, and prepared for the jab that was no doubt coming.

"Volume three?" He paused a moment, and she looked up. "I don't suppose you still have volume one laying around?" Her mouth hung open a moment, her prepared response turning out to be unnecessary.

"Blimey, she's probably got more books than the library here," Ron said, his tone suggesting that this was something mind boggling. Hermione blushed.

"That's great," Mike said smiling, to Ron's ire. "Could I borrow it?"

 _Great, he likes class, he likes books. It's another Hermione,_ Ron thought to himself with an audible snort. Mike eyed him briefly, then turned back to Hermione, though Ron had not paid any attention.

"Er…" She had never met anyone who really enjoyed learning like she did, and she was still trying to gauge if Mike was as enthusiastic as he seemed. He had said he wasn't always excited for class, but yesterday he had paid attention to the courses, even asking Hermione a few pertinent questions on the way to new classes.

"I promise not to crease the pages." Mike raised his eyebrows playfully, causing her to smile.

"Okay," she answered, "I'll bring it to breakfast tomorrow?" He smiled in agreement, then clapped Ron on the back roughly, a subtle payback for the jabbing remarks at Hermione.

"Great, looking forward to it." Mike stood up, "Have a great class, guys!" With that, he left.

"Git," Ron muttered under his breath.

* * *

Captain Bradley Gordon pulled back the charging handle of his HK416, peeking through the open barrel and verifying that there was not a round in the chamber. Noting it was clear, he began disassembling the weapon, getting ready to clean it.

Brad had always enjoyed weapons maintenance. Though every one of his squad members, to a man, thoroughly hated the tedious process; Brad found it relaxing, soothing. In fact, when he was stressed or upset for some reason, his team knew to begin by looking in the armory. Often, they would find him with a stripped weapon.

Special Operators were special in many ways. They received more training, bigger budgets, and better gadgets, among other things. One way such thing was the selection of weapons, and what they could do to customize them. Each operator was encouraged to have _their_ weapon. A firearm that is used by that operator, and that operator alone, customized to their own comfort.

Brad chose the HK416. It was more reliable than the Colt M4A1 carbine that it was modeled after thanks to a short-stroke gas system HK had successfully utilized in other rifles. Other improvements to the rifle included drainage holes in the bolt carrier allowing the rifle to be fired after being submerged in water and a free-floating barrel that improved the accuracy of the rifle.

He took special care of the weapon, making tweaks and modifications, customizing it to his preference. He added an EOTech holographic sight to make target acquisition easier. On the rails he added a flashlight and an infrared laser sight, invisible to the naked eye but bright as day when using night-vision. He added a Magpul AFG-2, an angled fore grip that made holding and firing the weapon more comfortable. He also used Magpul polymer magazines over the metal ones, as they were lighter weight, more ergonomic, and they significantly reduced misfeeds.

He had just finished cleaning it when his watch beeped. He had twenty minutes to get ready before the meeting with the centaurs. That wasn't something he imagined he would ever find normal, a meeting with centaurs. He smiled to himself, set his timer and rapidly put his rifle back together. He was just shy of his record, though he was unsure he could beat it.

Twenty minutes later, he stood outside the entrance hall doors with the rest of his team, sans David and Eric. They were set in full gear, their weapons slung comfortably from harnesses on their chests as they awaited the rest of the delegation. It wasn't long before Dumbledore and Major Price showed up.

"Gentlemen," the major greeted the operators. "We are following the headmaster. He has asked me to follow his lead with the negotiation, and I have agreed. You boys are here for security, and you're to react only. Apparently centaurs are a dramatic bunch and make threatening gestures. Do not fire unless you absolutely have to. We don't need more enemies."

"Copy that," was the cool reply of Capt. Gordon, who was in his 'operator mode.' It was something a lot of them joked about. Something about being in full gear, readying for an operation-it brought out the soldier in them.

"Sir," Major Price gave Dumbledore a gesture that said 'lead the way' and the group started off down the steps. They walked to the northeast, just past the greenhouses, Dumbledore in the lead with Major Price just to the side and the operators in a loose semicircle behind them, their heads on a swivel as they scanned for any potential threat.

"Just this way, I believe." Dumbledore started into the Forbidden Forest when they reached the edge. For a man as old as Dumbledore looked, he was surprisingly agile and the group kept a steady pace. They were just losing sight of the castle when Sanderson's voice crackled over the radio.

"Contact, right." The group, save Dumbledore, stopped and the operators brought their rifles to 'low ready,' the weapon shouldered but the barrel still angled toward the ground. They could respond swiftly should the need arise. Dumbledore had only taken a few steps when he realized the rest of the group had stopped, and followed suit. The wait was not long, and three centaurs calmly walked out of the bushes ahead of them.

"Greetings, Dumbledore." It was Firenze, Gordon recognized him from yesterday's encounter. The other two he did not recognize. "Your companions are surprisingly disciplined, for humans. Others would have attacked yesterday, it is what we expected."

"Good day, Firenze." Dumbledore greeted the centaurs smiling, a twinkle in his eye that suggested that he was as at ease as he might be taking a stroll down the hall of his school. "That is a high praise indeed. Centaurs do not compliment lightly."

"Thank you," the major was not particularly familiar with negotiations, but knew that it wouldn't hurt to be polite. "We do our best to exercise restraint wherever possible." The centaurs eyed Major Price briefly before turning back to Dumbledore.

"We are here out of respect for you, Headmaster. You know well we are not at the beck and call of wizards. What do you require?" It was the middle centaur talking, larger than any of the others. His skin was a deep chestnut color, and he had long hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. The look on his face was less than friendly, however.

"Magorian, these soldiers," Dumbledore waved a gesture over the men behind him, "are at Hogwarts for the protection of our students against a most dangerous criminal. Their transgression yesterday was merely a…" Dumbledore paused, searching for the right word. "…patrol, a search party looking for the criminal."

"You insult us, to say a wizarding criminal would pass our lands unchecked." The centaur, Magorian, looked as though he may fire an arrow out of rage. The operators gripped their weapons tighter, and Major Price reflexively rested his hand on the handle of his sidearm. Dumbledore however, looked completely at ease.

"I misspoke," Dumbledore said placatingly, "they are rather new to magic, and magical beings. They had no knowledge of how secure your lands are."

"What are you here for, wizard?" Magorian relaxed, but only just. His hand still gripped his bow tightly, and his brow was furrowed.

"I would request that you show the soldiers the boundary of your territory." Dumbledore turned and looked at the major as though waiting for him to speak. Price cleared his throat.

"We meant no harm, and continue not to. If your land is secure, we have no need to patrol it." The centaurs ruffled at the 'if' in his comment, and he continued loudly to prevent an interruption. "That does not secure the rest of the forest however. Show us your borders, we will not cross again, and we can still do our job to keep this criminal away from the students."

The centaurs eyed the group for an uncomfortable length of time, and the Major almost spoke again before the reply was finally made.

"Come, one of you. Pay close attention because we will only do this once." The centaur turned and started off toward the west, and Captain Gordon took off after him, not waiting for the order. He was much more physically fit that the Major anyways.

* * *

Potions class had been unpleasant for all of the Gryffindors, and for David and Eric in particular.

"Wonderful," the sneering drawl of the potions professor rang in the ears of the operators. "It isn't enough to infest the school, you need to interrupt class as well?" The soldiers were taken aback by the unexpected hostility of Snape, and said nothing. "Nothing to add? Very well, sit. And do be quiet."

The operators sat at the rear of the class and listened as the professor 'taught,' mostly by asking what appeared to be tough questions and taking points away from Gryffindor because Hermione kept trying to answer when no one else could. The course seemed to be taking forever, and Eric had just checked his watch, noting that they were not even quite halfway through, when the doors burst open loudly.

Malfoy entered, balancing a confident swagger with an injured helplessness that had some of the Slytherin girls fawning over him.

"How is it, Malfoy?" Pansy Parkinson asked the boy as he sat down, wincing. "Does it hurt much?" She rubbed his back comfortingly as she waited for his response.

"Yeah," he replied with a brave sort of grimace that irritated Eric to no end. Eric had seen the wound, and while it was deep, he had been in contact with Madam Pomfrey about their medical abilities. He knew for a fact that the wound was almost three quarters of the way healed.

"Settle down," Snape said idly, and the fawning died down. Pansy continued to rub Malfoys back, but turned to pay attention to the professor. After seeing the reactions of the professor when Hermione spoke out of turn, he had expected a little more explosion from Snape.

 _Looks like he saves the patience for his own house,_ Eric thought to himself.

"You know all you need to brew the Shrinking Potion. Get started," Snape said, his robes flaring behind him as he turned sharply to return to his desk.

"Sir," Malfoy called, causing the professor to stop and turn back. "Sir, I'll need help shredding my daisy roots. My arm-"

"Weasley, shred Malfoy's roots." The professor sat at his desk and began flipping through a large book at his desk.

"Right," Ron said, taking the roots and cutting them quickly into mismatched shapes.

"Sir, he's mutilating them!" Malfoy exclaimed, a feigned distress in his voice. Snape looked up from his book irritated, a look that was hardly different from the one he naturally wore.

"Weasley, trade roots with Mr. Malfoy." He looked down at the book again, but his reading was cut short by Ron's response.

"But, sir-" whatever excuse Ron was about to use was cut short by Snape, who looked up and slammed his book against the desk.

" _Now,_ " he said venomously. Ron didn't dare argue, and shoved his own beautifully cut roots to Malfoy, who was smiling in delight. The rest of the class went similarly, Malfoy requesting help and Snape issuing an order for a Gryffindor student to pull the extra weight. He spent a fair time berating the Gryffindor students for subpar performance, reducing one boy, Neville, to a bumbling mess. The class couldn't end soon enough for Eric and his fellow operator, along with the entire Gryffindor class.

"Five points from Gryffindor, I told you not to help Mr. Longbottom, Granger. Class dismissed," Snape drawled, and the students stood as one, leaving. Eric and David waited a moment, then accompanied Harry and his friends out of the class.

"Potter!" Malfoy's voice called out over the crowd, and they stopped, looking back. "Potter, seen the _Daily Prophet_ today? They spotted Black, not too far from here. Thinking about catching him yourself?" His eyes shined with malevolence.

"What are you on about?" Harry asked impatiently, not planning to spend the rest of his morning with the Slytherin.

"You mean you don't _know?_ " His eyes widened mockingly, the little smirk on his face betraying his true feeling on the matter. "I mean, maybe it isn't for you, but _I_ would want revenge."

"Spill it, Malfoy," Ron said, also losing patience.

"Draco, let's go. You'll need to eat to get well." It was Pansy Parkinson again, she wrapped an arm around his shoulder and he gave them a quick wink before wincing and gasping slightly at the touch, and she softened even further.

"Yeah, you're right." Malfoy started off under her arm, walking as though he was recovering from a grave injury and not a moderate gash to the arm.

"Damn, those Slytherins are _douchebags._ " Eric eyed the retreating couple for a moment longer, then turned to the trio. "Sorry you guys got it so bad today." Hermione smiled humorlessly and Ron scoffed.

"That's potions," Harry said, starting toward the Great Hall, where lunch was about to start. The rest of the group followed, and after a few polite words, they parted.

* * *

"Hey boys, how was class?" Mike asked as David and Eric approached their table. Harry, Ron and Hermione went to their table, and the excited chatter of students could be heard throughout the hall as they waited for the food to appear.

"It sucked, man." Eric said, plopping in his seat. David, ever the quiet one, simply nodded his head in agreement and pulled out a sudoku book and his timer. "That potions professor is a dick, and so are those Slytherins. Where's the Captain?"

"Bummer," Mike replied sullenly, wondering if he still would have enjoyed the course. "Captain's running around with the centaurs. Meeting went alright, they're showing him what's off-limits. Should be back anytime." The group sat together and talked about their experiences today until the food appeared, and the talking quieted down as they started grabbing food off of the now full platters.

Captain Gordon made it back shortly after, heading straight to the Great Hall in full gear. He would look slightly out of place, but after the pace he had to keep up with the centaur and the distance they traveled, he was famished. He recorded the data on his wrist computer as he walked back to the castle, sending it directly to the Major and headed straight for food.

"Captain," Sanderson greeted before taking a bit of a sandwich.

"You look like you had quite a walk, Cap," Mike was grinning, holding his own sandwich. Brad sat heavily into the open seat, then grabbed the closest food to himself, which turned out to be a bowl of soup. He took his spoon to it, surprised by the flavor.

"Uh, Cap?" Mike asked, his look a cross between amusement and bewilderment. "That's the gravy…for the mashed potatoes…"

"Huh," was the only response as the Captain took another spoonful, not wanting to show any embarrassment. "It's good." He put the bowl down after a third scoop, and picked up one of the stacked sandwiches.

"So how was the adventure with Magorian?" Mike passed a small plate with a couple sandwiches, potatoes and some cookies on it toward the captain. He was familiar with the feeling, after burning so many calories a man could eat anything.

"Got the data," Brad said, accepting the plate with a grateful nod and continued, "was hell keeping up with him. I'm pretty sure he was trying to lose me. How was class?" The operators relayed their observations of the class, with special attention paid to Snape and Malfoy.

"Sounds like we pegged Slytherin." Gordon and the others had placed their bets on which house would produce the most trouble. None of them had thought to add which _teacher_ they would have issues with.

"So, what's the plan for the rest of the day?" David asked, between sessions of his puzzles.

"We don't have much, I'm going to attend the next class with Harry. The rest of you can work on whatever you need to." There were a few acknowledgements, and most of them paid the majority of their attention to their meals.

"Right on, can I come too?" Mike asked, looking a little more perked up. Brad didn't have the heart, nor a valid excuse, to say no, so he simply nodded his head affirmative. Mike smiled broadly and dug back into his meal, the rest of which was largely silent.

After lunch, Mike again approached the trio, this time with Brad in tow. Brad had stayed behind, giving much of his gear to his squad mates to stow away until later, when he could properly clean it. He was now much more comfortable, with just the fatigue bottoms, undershirt, and gun belt.

"Hey, the captain and I are gonna tag along for the next one." Mike greeted the trio.

"This going to be a regular occurrence?" Harry asked. He was growing used to the extra attention he got over the last two years, but he was sure that the muggle soldiers following him around would only exacerbate things.

"Probably," Brad replied as he caught up, just in time to hear the question. "We aren't in the regular patrol rotation, and we could use the familiarization with magic. Still playing catch-up." Harry nodded in resigned agreement, and they group set off toward the Defense Against Dark Arts class.

Hermione led the way and Mike was quick to insert himself next to her, the two chattering away happily about various topics. Ron, Harry and Brad followed.

"So, how'd you become a solider then?" Harry asked, turning to Brad as they walked. Brad hesitated for a moment, and decided that the magical world already knew most of this anyways, with their 'informers' and the like. Sharing personal details wasn't something he did often, but he wanted Harry to trust him. "You're a little young, right?" he continued.

"My parents died in a terrorist attack," Brad said. Brad, along with several others in the program, lost his parents in the World Trade Center attack. Others lost family overseas, in bombings, shootings, and other acts of terror. It was a driving force in the Spartan Program, paying back those that took away their families. "Most of us lost our parents that way, actually. The army came along and offered me a way to get back at the people who did it…or at least people like them. I took it."

"How old were you?" It was Ron this time. Brad didn't look too much older than them, and they weren't old enough to work, let alone fight in a military.

"I was six when I was recruited. Didn't really know what I was getting myself into, but I'm glad I did it. Sixteen now." Brad answered the unanswered age question, confirming to the both of them that he was much younger than most soldiers.

"That's…" Harry wasn't sure what else to say about it. He wondered for a moment how his life might be, if the military knocked on the door of Number 4, Privet Drive, offering him the chance to prevent his situation from happening to other kids. At six, he already knew how the Dursleys felt about him, and probably would have jumped at the chance to get away from them.

He imagined himself, muscles bulging under a uniform and a sense of drive and purpose he had heard of and observed from his brief interactions with the soldiers. The family-like sense of comradery, each of them obviously trusting one another completely. He felt a pang of jealousy, but it was gone as soon as it came.

He wasn't jealous, not really. He couldn't envy their lives. They lost their childhoods along with their parents. They all carried themselves with a confidence borne from a life of hardship. Harry knew his own was not a gentle upbringing, but he couldn't help but smile as he imagined the cliché drill instructor yelling in his face and demanding more physical training. Vernon had yelled often enough, but usually from a distance and usually to confine him to his 'room.' He wondered how he would have fared.

"Looks like we're here." Ron broke the introspection of his best friend as they made it to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room.

As everyone made it inside the classroom and began taking seats, Brad noticed that Professor Lupin was not in the room. He took a seat behind the trio, next to a young Gryffindor girl he didn't recognize. The students were unpacking books and quills when the professor made his entrance. He was still rather pale, dressed in tattered robes that were definitely not as fine as that of other professors.

"Good afternoon," Lupin announced as he made it to his desk. The idle conversation throughout the room died down as the professor placed an equally tattered briefcase on his desk. He smiled at the class, "Please put your books back into your bags, todays lesson will be a practical one. You will only be needing your wands." There was a murmur through the class, and Brad got the distinct impression that this was not a normal start to the first class. Nevertheless, the students obliged and soon the tables were cleared of books.

"Right then," Lupin walked slowly around the desk and toward the door. "If you'll all follow me." The puzzled class stood up and followed, their curiosity piqued. There was a brief interruption by Peeves, which was expertly handled by Lupin. The poltergeist had stuffed chewing gum into the keyhole of a supply closet and taunted the Professor as he passed. Lupin uttered a spell that shot the gum straight up Peeves nose, sending the poltergeist off with style. The class moved along its path with a newfound respect for the professor.

He led them to a large classroom filled with mismatching chairs and a wardrobe in the center. It was otherwise empty, save a chair near the door that was occupied by Professor Snape. The class filed in and before Lupin could close the door, Snape stood from his seat, a sneer evident on his face.

"Leave it open," Snape started toward the door. "I'd rather not stay to witness this." Brad frowned as Snape closed the distance toward the door, then stood uncomfortably close to Neville and Professor Lupin. _The guy really was a dick._

"It's possible no one informed you. I see that Neville Longbottom is in this group. I warn you not to entrust him with anything difficult, unless Miss Granger is whispering instructions into his ear." Brads' frown deepened at the blatant call out in front of the entire class, even as Neville's ears turned a bright red. Before he could say anything on the matter, Lupin beat him to it.

"I was actually rather hoping that Neville would help me with this task," Lupin replied, his eyebrows raised in challenge. Neville's red simply deepened. "I am quite certain he will perform admirably." Snape ignored the comment and left, slamming the door just a little louder than socially appropriate.

"Now then," Lupin walked into the center of the class, near the wardrobe. As he shortened the distance, a loud _thump_ sounded from within, and the doorknob started rattling. There were several gasps, and some of the closer students jumped. Brads hand unconsciously snapped toward his sidearm, but he stayed that response before he completed the action. _Guess I'm a little jumpy too._

"It's nothing to worry about," Lupin called to the class. It did little to comfort them, but they continued to listen intently. "There is a boggart in there." Brad looked to the faces of the students, not sure what a boggart was. He gathered from the mix of worried and terrified looks, that it _was_ in fact something to worry about. "Who here knows what a boggart is?" Lupin asked the class. Before he could complete the question, Hermione's hand shot up. He gave her a questioning look.

"Sir, a boggart is a shape-shifter," She started, lowering her hand, and her eyes as a nervousness set in. She often answered questions in class, but was not always comfortable with everyone's eyes on her, especially a certain muggle boy next to her. "It will take the shape of whatever will frighten us most." Lupin held his questioning gaze just a moment longer than necessary before he smiled at her widely, obviously impressed with the answer.

"Couldn't have said it better myself. Take five points for Gryffindor," Lupin continued the lesson on boggarts, what they were and how to defeat them. Mike nudged Hermione in the shoulder after her successful answer and gave her a subtle high-five, as not to interrupt the class.

Brad stood near the door, content to observe the class and its process. Lupin did a great job of preparing his students, seeming to have an intuitive knowledge about how each of them might best learn. He gave praise generously, but not without merit. Soon he released the boggart, and as the professor expected, Neville defeated it rapidly. The class took turns facing their fears and dispatching them in an amusing manner. The class went from very nervous to a lighthearted feel, and by the end students were laughing.

It wasn't lost on Brad that the turns ended before Harry could have a go at it, nor was it lost on him that the class had really learned a lot. He supposed that if any of them had encountered a boggart in their day to day lives before then, it would have been a horrific experience. Now, these students could recognize the boggart for what it was and dispatch it. He was impressed with the professor, even if the man could do with some sun and a better change of clothes.

When the class was dismissed, Brad and Mike escorted the Gryffindors to the Great Hall for dinner. Mike and Hermione led the group, taking animatedly. There was a lot of excited chatter from the Gryffindor table as they talked about the class, and Reaper team went over the class amongst themselves. Several of them took turns making fun of Mike, who they accused of having a crush. He took it well, but never denied it.


	11. Hogsmeade

AN - I wanted to apologize to you all for how long this took me. It took a lot of struggling with this chapter before I finally had to scrap it and try again from scratch. That, coupled with a generally busy life caused a much longer delay than I'm proud of. That said, the story is far from dead. I'm actively working on the next chapter. Thanks to those of you who have set up alerts and thank you to those of you who have left comments. Your feedback is very helpful. Enjoy

* * *

"Captain, please have a seat." Colonel Sumner gestured toward a single chair in the center of an otherwise empty classroom. Brad sat without hesitation, seamlessly transitioning from attention to a more or less seated attention. He sat ridged, unmoving from his perfect posture. A thousand thoughts swam through his head. It wasn't often that the Task Force Commander dropped by for an unannounced visit, and it was even less often that he singled out one operator for the reason. Brad wasn't sure what he did wrong, but he felt certain he was about to find out.

"Talk to me about Sergeant First Class Sanderson." Colonel Sumner ended the sentence abruptly, and Brad fought hard to focus. He was surprised at the initial subject.

"Sir…" He wasn't sure where to begin, or what the colonel was after. "Sergeant Sanderson is an excellent operator. He is a great shot, is always where he needs to be when I need him there and has a cool head." Brad figured that was a good opening at least.

"And his faults?" the colonel asked, showing no reaction to Brad's initial statement.

"He is a bit by the book, Sir." Brad said without missing a beat, realizing by the look on Colonel Sumner's face that this was a strange answer. "He is a little lacking when it comes to the situational nuances of operations, is all I meant."

"I see." The Colonel eyed Brad for a moment. "Do you think he is suitable for command?"

 _Holy shit…_ Brad took a heartbeat to think. He was being relieved of command. _What the hell did I do?_ "Yes."

"Excellent. Now that the formal stuff is out of the way…" It looked like a switch turned off, the colonel suddenly not projecting the same intimidating authority. "Relax, son."

"Sir?" Brad made an honest effort to relax, but the process of relaxation had all but been wiped from his mind. He couldn't relax if his life depended on it.

"Things in the States have been going well. A little too well, actually," Sumner replied. "MACUSA and the Task Force have been cleaning house, and the operators have been extremely successful. Enough so that General Thomas believes we are over allocating resources," Sumner paused while Brad processed this.

The teams are performing too well? Enough so that the General believes we are using too many resources. On top of an interview about the command ability of Sergeant Sanderson. "You're splitting the teams?"

"Effective immediately, Fireteam Two of Reaper Team will be returning to the States and forming its own unit, under the command of _Captain_ Sanderson." Sumner smiled. Brad felt a flood of relief, along with a pang of sorrow. He was not being relieved of command, but he was losing half his team. He knew they would be excited to have their own team, but they had also been together for a long time.

"Copy that, sir." Brad said. "Should I call the team together and break the news?"

"Go ahead, we are leaving tonight," Sumner replied, standing. Brad followed suit immediately. "For now, I have a meeting with the Headmaster, to see how things are going. Dismissed."

* * *

The next few weeks were a blur for Brad. It took some getting used to, but they were getting by without Sanderson, Nelson, Harden and Strong, who were now the forming members of Wraith Team. Jason had been a bit of a bummer since the separation of his best friend, Ian, who was now in the United States with the rest of his team. In all everyone was doing well, however. The job was getting done.

That morning at breakfast, there was a bigger hustle and bustle than normal. It was Halloween, and also the day of the first big trip to Hogsmeade for the year. Everyone was excited, especially those third year and above. Almost everyone scarfed down their meals, having plenty of preparation to do before they left at eleven.

It was no different for Reaper team. They ate their breakfasts rapidly, a practiced ease born of years spent eating as much as possible in as little time as they could manage. As soon as they finished, they retired to the second floor Briefing Room, a classroom that had been converted for use by the Task Force. They were among the last to arrive. 2nd Platoon under Lieutenant Zack Miles had been seated already, along with 3rd Platoon under Lieutenant Joshua McMann. It looked like they were just waiting for Major Price to come lead the briefing. The Reaper operators took seats along the front row and a few moments later the major entered.

"Alright, today is the first Hogsmeade visitation day." The major scanned the room. "Against my advice and the advice of Colonel Sumner, the Headmaster has not canceled these trips. Trips to Hogsmeade present a double pronged threat to students. It will be a lot easier for Mr. Black to get to the students away from the protection of the school. Additionally, because we will be away from school grounds, there are dementors placed by the Ministry." There were a few murmurs through the crowd of soldiers. The patrols that skirted the boarder of the school property were issued Mark I Patronus Packs, as they were almost always shadowed by the terrible creatures. To date, no dementor had disobeyed the Ministry order not to cross school grounds, but the troops preferred to be prepared.

"The Headmaster negotiated with the Ministry, and dementors will be pulling back from their regular routes. There _should_ _not_ be a dementor within half a mile of Hogsmeade, same goes for Hogs Highway." Hogs Highway was the nickname given to the path between the school and the small town, and it caught on rapidly. "Each fireteam leader will be issued a Mark I, just in case. The dementors will pull back at 1000 hours. They are due to return to their positions at 1700 hours." There were various head nods.

"On that note, 3rd Platoon drew the short straw." There were a few chuckles from around the room as the troops of 3rd Platoon sat up a little straighter. "At 0900, 3rd Platoon is leaving school grounds and taking up positions along Hogs Highway, along with securing Hogsmeade. We will not need to breach and secure the town, we are just taking up interdiction positions outside town to prevent Mr. Black from making his way inside and to keep students from getting outside town. Keep your weapons tight and be careful. Do not provoke the dementors, but if they start something, end it." The major looked deadly serious. They had heard many stories about the dementors and it was commonly accepted throughout Bravo Company that they were abhorrent creatures that had no business being near people in general. "It is imperative that we do not start an international incident against a… friendly… government. However, our safety and the safety of the students' needs to come first." The British Minister of Magic was not enthusiastic about the presence of TFA.

"2nd Platoon has been assigned escort of the students. Students are being broken into small groups to be escorted by fireteams. At 1015 hours, 2nd Platoon will begin escort to town. On arrival in town, the students will be allowed to break off into their own groups and go about their day. 2nd Platoon will set up patrols for within town along with points outside major student hotspots like Zonkos and Honeydukes. At 1500 students have been instructed to make their way toward Hogs Highway. The fireteams are responsible for ensuring all of their students are accounted for, and we will then make our way back to the castle. Home in time for dinner. Any questions?" No one raised a hand, so the Major continued.

"If something hits the fan, the first unit to determine a danger will call Echo Victor over the primary channel. If the evac code is issued, 3rd Platoon is going to lock down its positions and be ready to fight. As for 2nd Platoon, 1st Squad goes to the rally point at Hogs Highway. 2nd, 3rd, and 4th Squads go door to door and send every student back to the rally point immediately. 1st Squad will get a headcount and make sure everyone is accounted for. Meanwhile a convoy of Humvees and transports will haul ass to Hogsmeade, pick everyone up, and haul ass back to the castle. 3rd Platoon will evac once the students are secure at the castle. Keep in mind, this is worst case scenario and if someone calls Echo Victor for shits and giggles I will have your ass digging ditches ten hours a day for the remainder of this operation." Major Price waited a moment to continue, allowing the chuckles to subside.

"Finally, Reaper is tagging along. I'm told Mr. Potter is not going to Hogsmeade this year. No permission form, thank God for small miracles. Capt. Gordon and Staff Sgt. Grimes will be staying at the castle with him. Mr. Potter's two best friends however, are going to make the trip. They will be escorted by Sergeants Steele and Matthews, as they are prime targets for Black. You two are to keep them in visual contact at all times during the trip, understood?" Mike and Jason nodded their affirmation, but said nothing. It was for the better that they kept their mouths shut, as the only thing going through Mike's head was a sarcastic remark about how obvious that order was.

"To summarize, 3rd Platoon is taking over security from the dementors, 2nd Platoon on escort, and Reaper team escorting Potter's friends. Don't fuck anything up, get the kids out if there is trouble. Any questions?" There were none, so the major dismissed everyone and left.

* * *

An hour and a half later, the courtyard of Hogwarts was filled with a number of excited, if not a little nervous, students. Alongside them, the 50 Spartans in 2nd Platoon were performing last minute checks on weapons and getting headcounts of their charges. It was cold outside, and everyone was well bundled.

It was no different for Mike and Jason. The two operators were in their full battle gear, helmets with compact night optics attached above the forehead, plate carriers thick with armor and gear, and their rifles slung comfortably in front of them.

"Hermione!" Mike greeted her with the same wide grin that only she seemed to bring out of him. She could almost see the twinkle in his eye behind his Oakley sunglasses. "You excited?"

"Hi, Mike," Hermione greeted sheepishly, trying pretty unsuccessfully to hide a blush at his wide grin. She still wasn't used to the boyish look of joy on his face whenever he laid eyes on her, and she found it endearing. In his full battle gear, she had to admit the boyish quality was all but gone, replaced by a rugged looking warrior. It did nothing to dispel her fondness of him. "You look…erm…"

"Ready to knock some skulls together?" He completed her sentence, not letting her flounder for too long. She nodded her head affirmatively and he somehow managed to grin wider at her. "You guys get nothing but the best." He turned to face a more glum looking Harry. "Sorry about your luck, bro. It's safer for you this way anyhow."

"I'll figure out something to do…" Harry said, not quite successful in his attempt to hide his woes.

"You _could_ finish that astronomy homework," Hermione said hopefully. His skeptical face told her he would not be following her advice.

"I was thinking more alon-" Harry was cut off by the all too familiar voice of a young Slytherin.

"Not going, are we Potter?" Malfoy shouted loudly, attracting attention of most of the students nearby. "Scared the dementors will get you?" He threw his arms up in a ghostly fashion, much to the amusement of other nearby Slytherins.

"Bold words from the scrawny daddy's boy who got mauled by a horse-bird." Brad was standing closer than any of them realized. While the crowd didn't laugh outright, aside from a few of the braver Gryffindors, the murmurs told Malfoy he was at a loss. He opened his mouth, only to be cut off by Brad. "Looks like the grievous arm injury is better. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it wasn't such a bad one after all… huh." Brad stared at the now-red faced boy. "Did you need something else, Mr. Malfoy?" Brad asked him. Completely flustered, the young Slytherin turned back toward his friends. Brad shortened the distance to the rest of his team.

"Harsh, Sir." Mike said grinning wildly. "I love it. That kid is a little prick."

"Alright, let's go!" Lieutenant Miles shouted loudly, and most if not all of the idle chatter died, replaced by excited murmurs from the students as the mass of bodies shifted toward the gate. "Kingpin, Dagger is on the move."

"Copy, Dagger. Safe travels," Kingpin said. Kingpin was the callsign of their Operations Commander, effectively the coordinator of deployed forces. His job was complex, needing to know what resources were deployed, where they were, what they were capable of, and how best to use them in order to accomplish the objectives laid out by command. None of the Spartans envied the job.

It wasn't long before the excited chatter returned to the students, their escort forgotten for the moment as they finally began the journey.

* * *

Brad, Eric and Harry watched the exodus depart, only moving when the last of them disappeared from sight. Brad looked over at Harry. The look on his face was a mixture of disappointment and worry.

"I know it sucks, but it's probably better this way. Mike and Jason will keep those two safe," he said. Harry returned the gaze for a moment.

"Thanks," he replied before starting toward the castle. "I think I'll go work on my schoolwork." The two operator's watched Harry leave. It was obvious that Harry didn't really care about the inherent danger of leaving the protection of the castle, and who could blame him. It was easy, especially for one of the operators, to forget that Harry was still a kid. Or at least more so than the Spartans were. For all the danger and heroism he had displayed his last two years, he still had the woes of a teenager. The desire to spend time with friends, experience new things and places. Hogsmeade was just that, a new place to explore. It's a tough pill to swallow having to stay behind, a feeling familiar to every one of the Spartans.

At some point or another, each Spartan had to watch their friends, their brothers, go into dangerous situations while they themselves stayed safe. Out on exterior watch or some innocuous but important task. It never got easier.

"Give him a little bit," Eric said as Harry walked off. "He's bummed about not hanging with his friends. I think there is some stuff on the job board we could look at." The job board was created by Major Price so that students and staff wanting any sort of help could ask. It was usually a monotonous task or two and sometimes a prank request by smart assed students, but now and then there was a legitimate task from an overtaxed professor or worried student.

"To the task board." Brad gestured toward the castle, and the two walked in comfortable silence to the board.

"Move furniture from level one to level 4, how about no…" Eric said looking at the first task. They were left on the board for 48 hours before being assigned by whoever was on watch command. Reaper team was left exempt from assignment unless it was an extenuating circumstance. They tried to pick up a task here and there, it helped with morale to see the operators busy with the same jobs as 'grunts.'

"Assistance capturing an escaped ghoul for the Defense teacher," Brad read aloud. Eric pulled the paper from the wall with a smile.

"Sold," he said, handing it to Brad, who was keying up his radio.

"Kingpin, Reaper 1-1." He only waited a moment before the reply came.

"Reaper 1-1, go ahead."

"Show Reaper 1-1 and 1-2 on Task…" He paused a moment, scanning the paper for the code that would pull up the task on their computer system. "Tango Foxtrot Romeo one four three nine."

"Copy all, Reaper, one four three nine. Good hunting." With that, the operators grabbed their vests and geared up. They only carried sidearms inside the castle unless on active guard duty. Task in hand, they made way to Professor Lupin's room. It was a short walk, and they were less than excited to see Professor Severus Snape skulking away from Lupin's classroom. Snape gave one look of disgust and proceeded to ignore them as they passed, which suited the operators just fine. Everyone in TFA had heard how Sumner's Delta team manhandled him, and it seemed he carried a distaste for the muggles since that point.

"Professor Lupin, I-" Brad cut himself short on entering the room when he saw Harry sitting with the professor. "I'm sorry sir, if this is a bad time…. We were here about the ghoul.''

"No, of course not. Please come in. Harry and I were just talking about a previous class." Lupin gestured them in, before turning back to Harry. "I don't doubt your abilities, Harry. If you're interested in pursuing the subject further, come see me again soon. Now, a ghoul is a little farther along in the course, but I'm certain there is some extra credit around if you would like to assist us in capturing it. Unless of course that would be a problem?" Brad shook his head almost immediately. This seemed like a good excuse to help Harry forget about his being stuck inside the school grounds.

"No problem at all, Professor." Brad stepped inside the classroom and gave Harry's shoulder a squeeze. "We would be glad to have you, man." Harry perked up at the idea. Brad had heard more than once that Harry had a natural talent for Defense Against the Dark Arts. The professor trusting him with a task like this probably went a long way.

"Sure," Harry replied a little quickly, standing up. "Where are we going?"

"I was storing the ghoul in a classroom nearby," Lupin lead them out of the room, Harry right next to him and followed closely by the two operators. "It would appear I caught a rather cunning specimen, as it escaped rather quickly. I don't expect it went far, but I found it quite aggressive." Lupin lead them to a class down at the corner of the hallway. The door was closed and so far they heard nothing, but ghouls were nothing if not tricky. "If not in here, it will be nearby. Good luck, and should you need extra assistance I'll be grading papers." Lupin turned and walked away, leaving the three standing outside the door. Brad unsnapped his holster, his sidearm already primed and ready. He was carrying a plastic ammunition enchanted with the stupefy charm. What better opportunity to field test an experimental round.

"After you," Harry pulled out his wand and gestured toward the door, obviously intending not to go first. Brad sighed, but pulled his sidearm out and grabbed the door handle.

"Harry, you follow to the left. Eric on the right. We see this thing, knock it the hell down quick." Brad said. A loud _thunk_ from inside was both a blessing and a curse. It confirmed the ghoul was definitely in the room, however it also confirmed that the ghoul knew they were coming. That made things a little more challenging. "On three. One, two…"

Brad opened the door and charged through as he shouted "THREE!" Harry and Eric were close on his tail and he had barely made it through when he noticed an object getting larger. A textbook, he realized too late. The book smacked him in the face and he heard a squeal of delight even as he was knocked off balance. Eric was prepared and caught Brad, preventing a fall. It left him exposed however as a container of ink sailed at him, striking him square in the forehead. The ink ran down his face, clouding his vision. He let go of Brad, letting him slip off balance to the floor while he cleared his eyes.

Harry, who had not yet seen the remarkable creature, decided it was time to react. He had made it safely to the left corner of the room, though he knew Brad and Eric were hit.

"Stupefy!" he shouted, letting a spell fly from his wand across the room. A shower of paper flew from a book at the other end of the room, but there was no indication his spell met its mark.

"Grok!" Harry heard the battle cry from across the room, and before he had time to react, a table flew towards him. He barely had time to raise his arms in protection of his face when the table met its mark, folding him swiftly to the ground and knocking his wand from his hand.

Brad meanwhile had recovered from his embarrassing incapacitation at the hands of a text book, and crouched with his Mk 23 handgun at the ready. He looked for any indication of movement, yet the only thing he saw was Eric at the corner of his eye. He decided to risk it by helping Eric up, and turned to give a hand. It wasn't until his hand was extended that he realized, it was not in fact Eric next to him but the ghoul standing between the two operators. The short creature wore what almost looked like a mischievous smile, though Brad was by no means an expert.

With a start, Brad jumped backwards and quickly fired several rounds. The ghoul was too quick however, and every round struck Eric in the abdomen, doubling him over and rendering him unconscious. The ghoul, out of the line of fire, let out a high pitched squeal of delight at the misfortune of the soldier as it sprinted between the desks.

"Alright, motherfucker!" Brad shouted, standing up and trying to track the little ball of carnage. Harry was extracting himself from beneath a table even as Brad found a target and began letting loose a barrage of .45 caliber pain. Brad emptied the magazine and rapidly replaced it with another, each round barely missing its mark as the ghoul darted around the room. "Show yourself!"

Harry stood up after scrambling to grab his wand, just in time to see a second desk hurl toward Brad. The operator ducked and the table missed, however, the rapidly followed chair did not, striking the soldier atop the head and knocking his handgun away. Harry saw where both came from and leveled his wand.

"Stupefy!" he cried, and a blue streak sailed across the room, ending in a wail of pain. A small form flew against the back wall and slumped down. Harry's spell had found its target.

Brad stood up, holstering his sidearm and nursing the top of his head where the chair struck. "Good shot, Harry." He closed the distance rapidly and pulled out flex-cuffs, securing all four limbs of the ghoul. After the detainment, he went to check on a very unconscious Eric. He would be alright, but Brad did not envy the aches that would be felt when Eric woke up.

"Let's get this thing to Lupin." Harry put away his own wand and picked the fiendish ghoul up by the ties as Brad heaved Eric up.

* * *

"You're telling me you wouldn't be caught in a place like that?" Mike gestured toward the extremely pink Madame Puddifoot's Tea Shop even as Hermione blushed at the concept. It was a local _must_ for the newly dating, almost always filled with young couples kissing over frilly flowered tea cups.

"Not in a million years!" Hermione squealed, a little shriller than she intended. She found herself off balance as he quizzed her about dating questions. She was staring firmly at the ground and couldn't see the helpless grin on Mike's face at seeing her reaction.

"Note to self, Hermione _hates_ pink…" Mike said, easing her tension with the joke. The two had split off from Ron and Jason, who seemed quite content staying within the confines of Zonkos and Honeydukes. Hermione found she rather enjoyed _and_ dreaded this alone time with Mike. He had a way of asking just the right question, in just the right way to send her reeling. She wasn't used to reacting on emotion and found she was doing so more and more often around him.

"We should go see the Shrieking Shack," she blurted out, not sure why. She knew she wanted to change the subject from pink tea cups, but hadn't realized she'd formulated a coherent thought. It was no better, really. In fact, they would be even more secluded from the rest of the students, an idea that haunted her even as much as it excited her.

"Lead the way, m'lady," Mike gestured onward in an exaggerated bow that Hermione couldn't help but smile at as she took the lead. Mike followed, alert and relaxed simultaneously. His head was on a swivel, constantly looking for the slightest hint of danger. He couldn't help but admire the bushy-haired witch as she led onward up a frosted trail.

He had met many strong women in his day. Hell every female Spartan was as strong as they come, and some of them were quite attractive. Hermione was different though. She didn't struggle to be beautiful, she was content with the way her bushy hair surrounded her. She made no effort to be liked, preferring to let her studious brain speak for itself, and paid no mind to the way it alienated her from her classmates, all of who preferred the gold standard of not giving a shit.

Mike found it inherently attractive how she seemed so comfortable in herself that she could continue to demonstrate her knowledge base in class even as her fellow students mocked her. He couldn't go so far as to say he could relate. He was never the cleverest in classes, nor had he found those that were to be attractive. Her passion for knowledge left him desperate to know how the Great Gnome Rebellion impacted wizarding society in 1843.

He was so lost in his musings that he almost walked into her when she came to a halt at the end of the trail, looking onward at a small shack several hundred meters away from the fence.

"This is it," she said, unaware that he had almost clumsily knocked her over. He saved face by simply standing rather close to her and whispering…

"Spooky," he saw the grin form on her face and smiled back. "Who does all the shrieking?" he asked, standing upright and resting his arms on the stock on his rifle, which was slung across the front of him.

"It's meant to be the most haunted place in all of Britain," She said, staring at it. "Nearly-Headless Nick said that even the castle ghosts avoid it."

Mike watched her stare at it in wonder, obviously pondering the subject of why it's so haunted, and he wished he could hear the possibilities running through her mind. It was definitely decrepit, having been obviously in disuse for a long time.

"Kingpin to all Dagger elements," Mike heard over his radio, breaking his momentary reverie. "T-minus 20 to extraction, all teams prep for extract. Kingpin, out." The call was given twenty minutes prior to the scheduled evacuation time, allowing the soldier's time to gather their charges and organize before they headed back.

"Time to head back, Hermione," Mike said. She too broke from the spell that had her staring into the distance. She met his eye for a brief moment, sharing the regret he felt at having to end this time together too soon, before turning down the trail again. Mike followed her down.

* * *

Once back at the castle, the majority of students headed straight for the Great Hall, knowing the Halloween feast was soon to start. Brad caught his operators and their charges as they headed for the Gryffindor table and flagged them down.

"Over here, come eat with us!" he shouted, getting the attention of all four. They were surprised to see Harry was seated between Brad and Eric, who was sporting some thick bandages across his abdomen and a particularly good shiner. Once they came to sit down, Ron broke the silence.

"What happened to him?" He gestured at the beaten operator, obviously looking to Harry for the answer. Hermione sat next to Mike with a concerned look on her face, even as Mike looked amused to no end.

"Our model, not our model!" Mike cried in theatrical mocking, which earned him a pinch in the side from Hermione. While painful, he found he didn't mind her being so close and couldn't wipe the grin from his face.

"I got shot by our illustrious leader here," Eric gestured toward Brad, though by the look on his face he was teasing. "We went after a ghoul."

"Harry here got the winning shot." Brad clapped Harry on the back as the rest of the team and his friends congratulated him on his "kill," a mixture of discomfort at the attention and pleasure at the same across his face. He wasn't used to high praise, and from what he'd seen, the operators of Reaper team didn't mess around. If they said he did well, they meant it.

"Great job, Harry!" Hermione said, "Ghouls aren't meant until later in our Defense class!" She beamed at him, obviously impressed at his going above what his current classes required.

"Cap," Mike said, smiling broadly at the subject he knew their leader dreaded. "You tried to frag Eric?" It was a rule amongst operators that friendly fire isn't, and any operator who accidentally fired on a colleague would be in trouble, especially since operators train so hard to avoid that. The ghoul was freakishly fast, a fact that while well known, meant little. An opportunity to punish the team leader was rare, and Reaper team had their opportunity.

"Gonna be tough to live that down," Brad said, relieved at the appearance of a feast before them. Roast beef, ham, potatoes, and all manner of side dishes and drinks appeared on the tables before the famished residents of Hogwarts, and the Halloween feast began in earnest. The table of operators, now joined by Harry, Ron and Hermione, ate and drank in happy conversation, reliving the events of their days to each other, Hermione and Mike skillfully deflecting questions about their time together.

It felt too soon when everyone found themselves uncomfortably stuffed with food and drink, tables clearing of food. The conversations were not dead, even if the night was drawing to a close, and as Harry, Ron and Hermione headed for the Gryffindor Tower, the operators of Reaper team tagged along, continuing their joyful time.

Mike and Hermione lead the way, chattering about an upcoming Ancient Runes class that Hermione was excited about. Jason, Ron and Eric were continuing a debate about the merits of Wizards Chess verses the muggle version of the game, while Harry and Brad talked about the events of the ghoul slaying. It earned Gryffindor ten points, much to the dismay of several Slytherin students who felt they could have done better after overhearing the events of the raid.

"I think that _Ancient Runes Made Easy_ is much too basic. You can't take an already complex subject and dumb it down so much, it's no wonder the class is so unpopular," Hermione said, and Mike nodded in agreement.

"I only sat in on one class and my head was spinning." Mike caught Hermione as she stumbled on the first step of the staircase ahead of them, and it wasn't lost on him that she locked arms with him for the remainder of the staircase. He had to struggle to formulate his next thoughts, or at least the ones that were on subject. "I think you're right, though. It seems like most of the students that are there just because, and without putting in some effort they're not gonna get anywhere with it. Takes too much studying for them to succeed if their hearts aren't in it."

"What's the idea?" a voice from the top of the staircase called out, causing the operator to look up. There was a mass of students at the top of the stairs, and through to the balcony leading to the Gryffindor portrait.

"You can't all have forgotten the password," Percy Weasley pushed past the operators and deeper into the crowd. "Excuse me, Head Boy coming through…" he called out, pushing though. Ron made a snide remark just before a quiet fell over the crowd. "Somebody get the Headmaster!" Percy called out.

Brad heard the distress in the tone, the same as the rest of his guys. There was an instant shift in their demeanor, hands shifted toward holstered weapons as Brad pushed into the crowd to see what was going on. Once he made it through, it was obvious. The painting of a rather pleasant, if not somewhat annoying Fat Lady was slashed by several claw marks and she was missing from the portrait. There had been an attack. Brad didn't hesitate.

"Kingpin, Reaper 1-1," He called into his radio as he drew his sidearm, a move mimicked by his fellow operators. "Sandstorm, I say again, sandstorm!" Sandstorm was the code word meaning an imminent or occurring attack. Kingpin immediately began relaying orders over separate channels, activating the Quick Reaction Force and locking down every known entrance and exit to the castle. The castle was completely locked down by the time Dumbledore arrived outside the Gryffindor common room.

"What's happened?" he asked, initially looking at a flustered and confused Percy Weasley. Brad stepped up and the headmaster shifted his attention.

"There was some kind of attack, the Fat Lady is missing. My guys have locked down the castle and the QRF is getting ready to perform a full sweep." Dumbledore nodded in acknowledgement and quickly turned to a nearby painting.

"Get the word out, find the Fat Lady." The painting bowed and leapt to action, Dumbledore turning back toward the Captain.

"I recommend moving the students to the Great Hall for tonight, it'll be easier to defend them all in one place. At least until we have cleared the castle." Brad gestured toward several scared first years, and the headmaster agreed immediately. Even as the QRF began room clearing starting in the basement and working its way up, Reaper and other Spartans escorted students to the Great Hall. It was bound to be a long night.

* * *

Several halls away from the Great Hall, Privates Sikorsky and Ryder stood at a side hall that lead to an exterior courtyard, and by extension, outside the castle.

"You think he made it in?" Sikorsky asked, gripping his weapon tightly. "Black, I mean."

"I know who you meant, asshole," Ryder replied, peeking outside the doorway. The QRF was almost finished with the lower levels of the castle, so far no sign. That didn't mean much though, the castle was big. Lots of places to hide.

"Well-?" Sikorsky started, but stopped himself short at the shadow of a man against the wall of a nearby hallway. It was gone as quickly as he saw it, but he felt certain it was there. He quickly raised his rifle, a move mimicked by his partner who had seen nothing.

"What the hell, man?" Ryder had his rifle aimed in the same direction, even though he wasn't sure why. You just trust your partner, that was a basic rule of soldiering.

"I saw a shadow," Sikorsky whispered. "Come out with your hands up, or I will shoot you!" he shouted. There was no response, so the two soldiers advanced rapidly. Sikorsky skirted near the wall while Ryder angled near the opposite wall, 'slicing the pie.' It was a term used in urban battle, standing away from a corner and stepping sideways in small chunks, revealing only small bits at a time. It was among the safer ways to handle such a dangerous undertaking.

"Go," Ryder said as he neared the end, signaling Sikorsky to advance into the hallway while he covered the advance. They moved in rapid, precise movements and in seconds had their rifles aimed at the only living being in the hallway. A large, shaggy, black dog sat with its tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth and its tail wagging rapidly. Both soldiers let out a quick exhale of relief, it was not their target.

"You saw a dog," Ryder said, lowering his rifle. Sikorsky hesitated a second and lowered his as well. "Congratulations, dumbass." Ryder started back toward their door and the dog got up and followed, Sikorsky bringing up the rear. They made it to the door way and the dog gave a low _woof_ of acknowledgement as it rubbed Ryder's leg on the way out the door.

"I thought it was a guy…" Sikorsky said, trying to convince himself as much as Ryder.


	12. Aftermath

AN- 5k views! Thanks to all of you for reading. As always, comments are welcome. Enjoy

* * *

The QRF, backed up by several of the "off duty" infantry squads, rapidly and precisely cleared the entire castle in under four hours, a feat that under other circumstances would have been incredible. However, the mood was a little more somber throughout the castle as students woke up and tables were replaced for breakfast that morning. Not a trace of the intruder was found, save the deep gouges in the Fat Lady's frame.

It wasn't until almost four in the morning when the Fat Lady was located, a distraught mess over the happenings of the night. With her testimony, it was confirmed. Sirius Black had managed to infiltrate the castle and attacked the painting when she denied him entrance to the common room. The revelation sent ripples through the members of the Task Force, and by 0500 Major Price had called together the entire leadership of Bravo Company, down to squad leaders, and Capt. Gordon.

To say he was apoplectic would have been an understatement that would have previously been laughed at. Major Price had been a relatively even tempered commander thus far. As it turned out, the Major did not appreciate catastrophic failure.

"An absolute shit show!" He shouted at the silent room. No one had spoken since the Major made it into the briefing room. Luckily, the room was relatively distant from most other occupied rooms. Originally it was to keep briefings at least somewhat private. It was useful however, as they needed every square inch of distance they could muster for the sound of Major Price's voice to die down, otherwise students and staff would hear his rage.

"Sirius _Motherfucking_ Black, walked into the castle!" He eyed each of them, the veins in his neck popped out as though trying to escape the tirade. "Somehow, the most wanted motherfucker in Britain walked past a company of highly trained soldiers, whose _entire purpose for fucking being here_ is to prevent exactly this fucking situation from occurring!"

"I'm at a loss for words…" He paused again, though if the last half an hour was any indication, he was anything but 'at a loss for words.' "You know, in ten minutes I have a meeting with the Headmaster, and I have to explain that this damned guy got past us, attacked a painting, and then _got past us again_ to escape." He took a large breath, and straightened out his uniform, obviously finished with them.

"Captain, you're second in command here," he said. "I am going to go try and convince the Headmaster that we are competent enough to keep this school and its contents safe. You stay here and unfuck this situation. I don't care how, come up with a plan to make sure this does _not_ happen again."

"Yes, sir," Brad replied even as Major Price stalked away.

"Damn," one of the Lieutenants called from the back of the room. "That was intense."

"Well," Brad said, standing up to face them. "Major Price is right. For all the preparation we have done, we failed the objective. Let's make sure it doesn't happen again."

Over the next hour, Brad laid out a plan with the help of the platoon and squad leaders. All of the entrances and exits to the school would have a two man guard post at all times, in full battle gear. The entrances to the four common rooms would also have a two man guard post just outside. In addition, Brad decided that at least two members of his team would stay in the Gryffindor common room at night, ready to go if Sirius Black tried again. The idea was to significantly increase their visual presence and their ability to respond.

* * *

"Headmaster," Severus Snape said, announcing his arrival in Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, his musings interrupted by the arrival of the potions professor. "I'm told the school has been completely searched."

"It has," Dumbledore replied. Snape opened his mouth but was cut short by the Headmaster, who knew exactly what was coming next. "There was no sign of him. I hardly expected Black to linger."

"Have you any idea how he managed to get in?" Snape asked. His contempt for the muggle soldiers was not particularly well hidden. It was clear he found this incident to be proof of his beliefs.

"Many, each as unlikely as the next," Dumbledore sighed. "I don't believe the muggles allowed his entry, and if the meeting Major Price has called for with me is any indication, they are taking it very seriously."

"As well they should," Snape barely contained the look of displeasure. "They failed to prevent a murderer from making it into the castle."

"I am certain it will be dealt with." Dumbledore ended the sentence sharply. Snape had a habit of picking at subjects for far too long.

"You remember my…" Snape paused, considering his words carefully. "Concerns, over our staffing appointment?" Dumbledore nodded, remembering quite well how Snape confronted him.

"I am quite certain that no professor assisted Mr. Black in any way." The edge of warning in Dumbledore's voice closed the subject fully. Snape opened his mouth to protest, appalled by the lack of consideration to the theory. He was however, interrupted by a knock at the door. "That will be Major Price, please show him in on your way out."

"Of course," Snape turned and stalked from the room, pushing past the Major. Price stepped inside and closed the door behind him. His uniform was sharply pressed and in sharp contrast to his earlier state, he was in complete control.

"Headmaster," Major Price said, snapping to attention in front of the Headmaster's desk. "I would like to formally apologize. There is no excuse for the lapse in security and-" Dumbledore held up a hand, interrupting the Major.

"Please, I know this was not any poor security on your side," Dumbledore said. "I have closely followed your efforts to secure the castle since the Task Force first arrived. In fact, I must admit that prior to last night, I felt they were greatly exaggerated. Please, have a seat Major." The major cautiously took a seat in the chair across from the headmaster, though he looked no less comfortable. If there was a way to stand at attention while seated, the Major was doing a spectacular job at it.

"I had thought they would be adequate. I have Captain Gordon formulating an enhanced security plan as we speak, and it will be operational by the end of the day," Major Price replied, still trying to ease any concern the Headmaster had.

"I too believed that Black would not manage to make it into the castle." Dumbledore leaned forward slightly. "Please, Major, relax." Price allowed his shoulders to slump, only just. Dumbledore considered it a win and continued. "I'm impressed with your ability to have changes in order so rapidly. That will make things easier in the days to come." Whatever relaxation Price had managed ended abruptly, and he was sharp as a tack once again.

"Sir?" was the only reply he could manage.

"I am certain that, in the coming days, at least some of our students will write home about this intrusion. Word _will_ find its way to Minster Fudge, who I'm afraid will insist that I allow the dementors to take over the security of Hogwarts." Dumbledore stood and walked to his window, overlooking the school. The horizon was only just starting to brighten, much of the castle and the lands around it remained dark.

"From everything I have seen and been told about the dementors, that would be a mistake, sir." Major Price had not personally fought a dementor, but he read the after action reports of an encounter by Phantom Team in the US. They managed to activate a Mark I, but only after an Auror had been kissed. It took some serious counseling to get Phantom back in fighting order again. Unleashing that on a school was unthinkable.

"I have no intention of allowing it, and your increased measures will help that." Dumbledore turned back from the window, and walked to the edge of the Major's chair. Price stood, taking that as his cue that the conversation was over. "I will continue to look into how Mr. Black made it into the castle. In the meantime, make your changes and keep an eye out for him. The sooner we apprehend him, the easier this all will be."

"Thank you, sir." Major Price snapped a sharp salute. "You have my word."

* * *

That morning the only gossip around the castle centered on Sirius Black and his miraculous intrusion into their school. The response by TFA was strong and immediate. Their armed presence at each of the entrances sent a clear message that there would not be a repeat.

The painting of the Fat Lady had been removed by Filch just prior to breakfast, replaced by Sir Cadogan. The knight seemed to take offense at the additional presence of guards posted outside the entrance. He had taken to showing off his fighting prowess against a tree in the backdrop to anyone trying to get into the Gryffindor common room. Students were rapidly finding that the quickest way to get him to accept the password and open the door was to admire his abilities.

Professors had their work cut out for them as well, struggling to keep students on task. Students were focused on the events of the night before.

"Transfiguring furniture can be a very complex…" McGonagall cut herself short for what felt like the millionth time today. The subtle murmurs of students whispering back and forth had grown loud enough again. "For heaven's sake, children." The murmurs stopped again, but the Professor knew their hearts wouldn't be in it. With twenty minutes left until the end of the day, she decided to cut her losses. "Go now, get the gossip out of the way. Return to classes tomorrow a little more prepared to learn, if you will." No one moved a muscle. "You're dismissed."

As one, the class stood and burst into conversation, not waiting to be told twice. McGonagall was not one to let them leave early, and no one wanted to look a gift horse in the mouth. Least of all Harry and his friends.

"Blimey, I never thought I'd see the day," Ron said incredulously. "McGonagall… letting us out early."

"Well it's not like anyone was paying any attention, Ron." Hermione seemed irritated, the only one not enthusiastic about leaving class early. Ron ignored her as they continued toward the common room, taking the chance to drop off books early, before dinner.

"I'd like to find the Captain," Harry said. They hadn't seen their team since the escort last night. When they woke up this morning, the Great Hall was indeed heavily defended. The operators of Reaper team were nowhere to be seen however, and never showed for breakfast.

"Yes, it would be good to get a little more information on what happened," Hermione said. The walk to the common room didn't take them long.

"They sure are taking the security thing a bit seriously," Ron commented as they reached the top of the staircase. The two soldiers standing in full gear outside gave them a nod of acknowledgement as they walked up.

"Tell the knight he looks like a badass," one of them said as the trio passed by. They made it to the painting and sure enough, Sir Cadogan stood clad in his armor, his sword drawn.

"Halt, scoundrels!" he shouted at them.

"Wattlebird," Ron said impatiently. His books were heavy and the last thing he wanted was to be stuck holding them any longer.

"Ha, you think you can trick me, do you?!" He thrust his sword out, then twirled, slicing a branch off of a nearby tree within his painting.

"That's quite a fighting technique." Hermione tried to sound enthusiastic. Sir Cadogan stood straighter and bowed slightly.

"Thank you, madam. You can see, I am plenty protection for this great tower of Gryffindor." He looked past her. "There's simply no need for the lumbering buffoons over there." He said it just loud enough to reach the two guards.

"Suck it, painting!" one of them retorted without turning away.

"Please, I won't allow you to be in their presence any longer than necessary." The portrait opened, allowing them entry. They went their separate ways, dropping off books, agreeing to meet up in the common room to head down to the Great Hall together for dinner. Harry and Ron finished quickly and found they had to wait for Hermione a little bit. When she finally came down a few minutes later, there were some subtle differences. Her robes no longer had the wrinkles of the day on them, among some other minor changes.

"Did you brush your hair?" Ron asked, scratching his head. Hermione's cheeks turned a faint pink as she descended the last few steps.

"I… oh honestly, there's nothing wrong with looking presentable." She poked at Ron's robes, which were quite wrinkled and had a pumpkin juice stain on the neck, then looked to Harry's wild hair. "You two might try it some time." She pointed her nose to the air slightly and left the two bewildered boys to follow her.

"You'd think she's going on a date…" Ron sighed. The two caught up and they went down to the Great Hall together. Students were already grouped together, exchanging theories on the intrusion the night before. Some of the braver ones were attempting to wrestle information out of some of the troops. Some of the older students were finding their seats, experience telling them that food would be arriving soon.

"No, man. There is no reason to expect that he turned into a plant." They heard a familiar voice nearby. Looking over, they saw that the four Reaper operators were at their table, with place settings for three more. Brad was crouched down trying to ease the concern of some first year Hufflepuffs.

"You're sure though? I thought the leaves on one near the fourth floor corridor looked wilted. Like they had been in prison or something, you know?" The student looked obviously distressed.

"My guys checked everything out, same with the teachers. He is d _efinitely_ not in the castle." Brad patted the concerned kid on the shoulder, standing up. "Go get a seat guys, the food will be here soon." The two kids nodded unconvinced. "I'll send a team to double check that plant, sound good?" They nodded and left as Harry, Ron and Hermione walked up.

"Hermione," Mike smiled as they arrived. "You look nice." She smiled and thanked him through pink cheeks.

"Feel free to join us if you like," Brad said, gesturing toward the extra settings. "You obviously don't need to, but…." He trailed off as they began taking seats. Hermione sat next to Mike, leaving the other two seats to the boys. Harry sat next to Brad, searching for how to ask about what all had happened.

"We'll talk tonight," he said, reading Harry's expression correctly. "From here on out, a couple of us will be in the common room at night. Plenty of time to discuss current events then." Harry nodded in understanding, even as he looked around. Brad would tell him, but he needed to wait until not so many students could hear.

"How was class?" Mike asked, his question almost punctuated by the rapid appearance of a wide variety of food and drink. The conversation throughout dinner had a heaviness to it. It was difficult to really have a good time with such an elephant in the room, but they managed to enjoy themselves.

Once everyone had fed themselves, they made way back to the common room. Brad and Mike were taking the first night in the Gryffindor common room. It was again a challenge, getting past Sir Cadogan, but they managed to succeed after another round of compliments to the knight. After finding the most secluded table in the common room, they sat.

"What happened?" Harry asked, unable to wait any longer. "How did he get in?"

"We aren't sure." Brad sighed, obviously not proud of the lack in answer. "We checked everywhere, no one saw him go in or out."

"That's kind of your job, isn't it?" Ron asked, earning a slap to the shoulder from Hermione.

"Ron!" She hissed.

"No, he's right." Mike said, leaving a sour taste. He, like most operators, did not tolerate failure particularly well.

"We have enhanced the security here, it'll be impossible for him to get in again. Guards at any and all entrances, 24/7. We set up observation points outside the castle to watch for him trying to get in through windows, the common rooms are being secured every night during dinner." Brad sat forward. "You will be safe."

"Thanks," Harry said. "So you guys aren't going to get replaced?" The concern was something he had wondered about since the incident occurred, and he felt certain that his friends had considered it as well, though no one said anything.

"No, not in the foreseeable future." Brad's reply was firm and confident. "Fudge will probably try to replace us with his dementors, but Dumbledore is not going to allow it. We have upped security and things should be stable."

"Good," Hermione said nodding her head. Apparently, she _had_ considered the possibility.

"I'll take a pass on the dementors anytime," Ron said, standing up. "Think I'm gonna turn in."

"Yeah, I think I'll do the same," Harry stood as well. They looked expectantly at Hermione, who looked a little embarrassed but didn't move. Brad took the cue.

"Well, Mike I think the boys are on to something. I'll go get some shut eye." Brad stood and ushered them toward their dorm. "You take first watch." Mike smiled appreciatively even as Harry and Ron rolled their eyes.

* * *

The next several weeks were a blur for Harry. As if classwork and the looming threat of a murderous convict couldn't keep him busy enough, Oliver Wood had made a compelling case that this was their year to win the Quidditch Cup. He was very passionate about it, this being his last year to win before graduating and leaving Hogwarts all together.

So Harry found himself busier than ever before. If he wasn't working on homework with Ron and Hermione, he was out on the Quidditch pitch practicing for the big duel with Slytherin. With the weather worsening as time wore on, Harry was often drenched by the time practice was over.

Worse still, the feud between Gryffindor and Slytherin was only getting worse as the days ticked down toward the first game of the season. As team zealotry increased, several scuffles were broken up in the halls, and both houses lost more than a few points for outbursts in class about each other.

Therefore, it was a shock when Harry was confronted by a panicked Oliver during breakfast a few days before the game. Harry, Ron and Hermione had taken to eating many of their meals with the operators at their own table, finding that food was easier to get their hands on at the smaller table and the company was enjoyable enough.

"It's not going to be Slytherin!" The exclamation startled Harry, who hadn't seen Wood approach from behind.

"What's that?" Harry bumbled his response through a mouthful of eggs.

"We aren't playing Slytherin! I was just told." Wood composed himself a bit and continued. "Marcus, their captain, he said that Malfoy can't play. That his arm is still healing. We're playing Hufflepuff now."

"What?" was all Harry could manage. He was certain that Malfoy was faking it, the weasel.

"We have been practicing all the wrong moves, Hufflepuff plays completely different. We will have to practice a lot harder now." Wood turned to leave. "I've got to tell the others. Double practice tonight!" he called out as he left.

"They're probably worried about the weather, it's been rather poor lately," Hermione said.

"Rotten cheats, they are," Ron shot a dirty look toward the Slytherin table, where Malfoy was making a show of nursing his arm. Pansy and several other girls were caring for him, cutting his food for him and giving him a great deal of attention.

"Hmm…" Mike grabbed at the backpack that was next to the table and rifled through it, producing a football. Hermione recognized it immediately, but was unsure where he was going with it. He simply winked at her perplexed look and stood up.

"Oy! MALFOY!" he called across the room. Most of the attention in the Great Hall shifted to Mike, including that of Draco. As soon as the blonde looked up, Mike hurled the ball straight at Malfoy's face. "Catch!"

Malfoy yelped slightly in surprise, and without thinking snatched the ball, preventing it from striking him in the face. Flushed with rage, Malfoy stood up, holding the ball in both hands. It took him a full second to realize everyone in the room was staring at him, Mike smiling widely.

"Great catch!" Mike sat, still obviously pleased with himself. Malfoy's face reddened, a mixture of anger and embarrassment. He sat quickly. Everyone saw him quickly catch a ball with both arms, which were both obviously working. Pansy rubbed his back in comfort even as the others scooted away.

"That was brilliant!" Ron whispered excitedly.

"I knew he was faking it," Harry smiled broadly at the public embarrassment of their nemesis.

"Now everyone does." Even Hermione was smiling.

* * *

Several hours later, the third year Gryffindors, along with Mike and Jason, filed into the school's current favorite classroom, Defense Against the Dark Arts. Lupin had rapidly become a favorite professor, his subjects often interesting and his methods often involving practical application.

"I wonder what it'll be today," one of the other Gryffindor students called into the class. Usually Professor Lupin was already in the room, prepared to start lessons. The students were using the spare time to speculate.

"We're due to start on hinkypunks," Hermione called out, and a few heads nodded in agreement, as though they too knew this.

"I think-" Dean Thomas was cut off as the door slammed open, startling the occupants of the Defense classroom.

"Turn to page 394." Professor Severus Snape strolled into the class rapidly, his cloak trailing behind him.

"Where's Lupin?" Harry asked before he could stop himself. Defense Against the Dark Arts was his favorite subject by far, and Lupin his favorite professor. It was a nightmare scenario to have Lupin replaced by Snape.

"Professor Lupin is ill, page 394." Snape snarled, reaching the front of the classroom and turning sharply.

"Werewolves? Sir, we aren't due to start-" Hermione started, but was cut short by the professor.

"Miss Granger, I was under the impression that I am teaching the class." He paused shortly, staring her down. Mike, seated near her shifted uncomfortably. Not due to the gaze of the professor, but due to a standing order not to interrupt class. "I am _telling you_ to turn to page 394." The class hesitated, but the professor only gave them a moment. "Now!" The class was briefly louder as books flew from packs and pages turned, until everyone was ready.

"How do you tell the difference between a werewolf and a true wolf?" Snape asked aloud. No one answered immediately, even as Hermione shot her arm into the air. Snape let the uncomfortable silence hang. "Anyone? Are you telling me that Professor Lupin has not-"

'Sir," Parvati cut him off. "As we tried to tell you, we have not gotten that-" Snape's response was sharp, enough so that she cowered slightly in her chair.

" _Silence!"_ he shouted. "That will be ten points from Gryffindor for your ill manners." Snape eyed the rest of the class before continuing. "Honestly, I never thought I'd meet a third year group who couldn't distinguish a werewolf from a true wolf…"

"Please, sir," Hermione was almost bursting out of her seat. "A werewolf differs in a number of slight ways…." Snape turned and stared her down.

"Miss Granger, I tire of your constant interruptions when I speak. That'll be ten points for being an insufferable know-it-all." Hermione's shoulders slumped in defeat even as Mike's squared in challenge.

"You asked a question, she answered. Seems like that's the point of school." Mike met Snape's stare square in the eye.

"I have been instructed to allow you to remain in the classroom," Snape didn't break eye contact. "I do not, however, have to allow you to interrupt my class."

"It'd be a lot easier to keep quiet if you didn't pick on everyone." Mike leaned back in his chair, making a show of relaxing. "Never been a fan of bullies, you know?" Snape paused, just slightly, caught off guard by the blatant callout.

"I cannot instruct you to leave this class, but that does not go the same for the others." Snape looked from Mike to Hermione. "Miss Granger, if you do not leash your puppy, I will put you in detention." Snape turned and began scrawling on the chalkboard, even as Hermione gave Mike a pleading look. Mike took a tough swallow and nodded his head once.

The rest of the class consisted of a fortunately detailed course on werewolves, interspersed with the insults and degrading remarks expected of the potions professor. When the class was over, they were informed that they would be required to write a two page essay on how to identify and kill a werewolf.

"That was some serious bullshit," Mike said aloud as they exited into the hall.

"It's nothing I haven't heard before," Hermione said, watching her shoes as she walked. Harry and Ron stayed silent, knowing that worse had been said by the professor.

"That's what's bullshit," Mike was heated, there was no two ways about it. He didn't take kindly to the bullying type, and was astonished that Snape was so brazen about it. He'd known the professor was a dick, but this was a lot.

"Potter!" a voice called from just down the hall. The trio plus Mike stopped to see Draco Malfoy surrounded by a gang of his Slytherin cronies. "Thought that was funny this morning, did you?"

"Man," Mike sighed under his breath, inaudible to the rest of the group. He was less in the mood to deal with the little brat at the moment.

"Your arm seems alright," Hermione said, noting the way Draco had charged forward, not nursing it at all. After the stunt that morning, it would have been futile anyways.

"No one asked you," Malfoy's look of pure disgust surprised Mike. He had known that there was no love lost between Gryffindor and Slytherin, but this appeared to be a whole new level. "Filthy mudblood." The term was lost on Mike, but one glance at Hermione told him all he needed to know. The look of hurt on her face was one he wouldn't soon forget, and he was going to make sure Malfoy didn't either.

"Right," Mike said, closing the distance between Malfoy and himself in one step and slugging the blonde square in the jaw. There was an audible crack and the Slytherin dropped to the ground. Mike didn't spare him a look, instead eyeing the rest of the Slytherin crew. "Anyone else?" They backed up, and Mike nodded. "Good."

"Let's get a move on," Jason had caught up in time to see Mike knock Draco unconscious. He knew Mike, and knew that he wouldn't do it without some sort of cause.

"Kingpin, Reaper 3, send a medic to the DADA hall." Mike spoke into his radio, crouching over Draco, who was holding his face. "Immediate response, trauma to the face." Mike unkeyed his radio and ignored the response from Kingpin as he whispered to the pained student. "Say it again and you're gonna swallow your teeth." He stood up, patting Draco on the shoulder. "Good talk." He rejoined the group and they left, silent.


	13. Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff

AN - I am going to add a few terms worth knowing before reading this chapter. I feel like spelling all of it out in the middle of the story interrupted the flow.

 **HVT** \- High Value Target (Just like it sounds, someone who is considered a priority target)

 **QRF** \- Quick Reaction Force (A team that is on stand-by and ready to respond immediately to a threat)

 **IFAK** \- Infantry First Aid Kit (A first-aid kit designed around combat with emphasis placed on stabilizing traumatic injuries)

If there are other terms I am using/have used that anyone is unclear on, please don't hesitate to mention it to me. It is important that everyone can understand what I am writing and I sometimes get excited and lost in technical details. Enjoy

* * *

Mike went to bed that night unable to sleep. He was an operator, through and through. The way he saw it, someone he cared about was getting picked on and he had the means to stop it. To be fair, the way Malfoy was approaching…his attitude and demeanor. Things could have gotten out of hand quickly. That said, it would be a lie to say he _didn't_ enjoy smashing that fucker in the jaw.

Yet, he had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he had made a mistake. He had received a firm ass chewing from Brad for getting physical with a student, and he was sure the staff wouldn't be happy. That wasn't what bothered him though, at least not what bothered him the most.

He had been unable to look at Hermione afterwards. He was too nervous, worried that he would see a look of fear. Violence was never very pretty. People knew, on some level, that a soldier was a purveyor of violence. Just as they knew that a special operator took that violence to the next level. It was one thing to know that, and another thing entirely to see it. What would she think of him? Was he nothing more than a caveman, staking his claim? A mindless brute who resorts to smashing things that anger him?

Hell, he wasn't even sure she knew what he thought of her. She was a special young woman, nothing like he had ever seen before. She was beautiful and kind. Smart…she had a brain that didn't quit, a permanent striving to know more and be better. It was something he recognized in himself, that inability to accept anything less than perfection. Yet they were so different. She was a studious, beautiful girl. And he was a gruff dealer in wholesale violence. He wasn't stupid, not by any stretch. Nor was he a genius. It seemed crazy to expect her to see him as anything more than a friend. He felt lucky she counted him as that, and decided that he needed to apologize for his display of aggression.

Not that he was sorry for doing it. No, he was sorrier that she had to witness it. With that settled, he closed his eyes and started counting. It was something he'd learned to do shortly into his start as a Spartan. You get sleep when and where you can, and when he felt too nervous or wired to sleep, he closed his eyes and counted. He poured his focus into the next number, then the next. Soon, he was bored out of his mind and drifting off to sleep.

* * *

Unbeknownst to Mike, up the hallway and to the left, Hermione lay awake. She was replaying the day over and over in her mind, analyzing every facet of it.

It'd meant a lot to her that Mike stood up to Snape for her. Other classmates had tried, mostly Ron and Harry. Thus far, no one had been so blatant. She felt so bad asking him to stop, especially because she really had been happy about it.

Then the hallway incident. She had never been a fan of Malfoy. His attitude toward others, especially his demeaning view of anyone not pureblooded…it was sickening. It made no sense, there was no evidence that blood status had anything to do with magical prowess. Wasn't she proof of that? How often had she proven she had what it took? Every class, she knew the answers before anyone. She was often the first to complete a new spell, brew a new potion. It was never enough though. People were determined to see her an outcast, Draco most of all. When he confronted them in the hallway, she was aghast. She hadn't expected such a spectacle, though she should have known better. Malfoy looked out for blood, and the way he looked at her…spoke to her. She hadn't felt so low in a while.

Then there was Mike, out of nowhere. The punch was textbook, and something she had fantasized about once or twice but never had the nerve to follow through with. She didn't like being picked on constantly, but fighters got in trouble and troublemakers got kicked out of school. She was a dentist's daughter, and she loved her parents. But magic was…well it was magical. It opened up a vast world to her, opportunities her parents never had. Gave her ways to achieve that couldn't be overshadowed by her already amazing parents. She couldn't work up the nerve to risk that.

It scared her at first. When Malfoy dropped like that, she thought he wouldn't get up for a second. It scared her more that her first thought was that maybe that was a good thing. He was such a terrible person; would the world be worse without him? She quickly threw that thought out and before she knew it they were all walking away. She saw Malfoy groaning on the ground, knew he was alive. Then they were down the hall and Mike excused himself.

It all happened so fast, it was surprising how quickly he was able to end it. The more she thought about it, the more she decided she couldn't exactly fault him for it. He was a soldier, wasn't that the job? If she was being perfectly honest with herself, it felt good to have someone standing up for her. Harry and Ron had her back, but they were just as lost in things as she was. This felt different. She felt like she could rely on him to be there no matter what.

If he was willing to knock someone out for name-calling, even names as wretched as those Malfoy came up with, surely he cared enough to be there no matter what.

It was all so new to her. She was used to being the bookish outcast. She was comfortable with her existence, with not being the prettiest and most popular girl in school. Perfectly content, but this felt new. Scary and exhilarating all at once.

That is _if_ he liked her. He'd called her pretty once. Not in so many words, but her heart soared nevertheless, when he immediately noticed the effort she put into her hair. No overt moves had been made however, and she was hesitant to do anything blatant. She rather enjoyed his attention and didn't want to do anything that could upset it.

With a start, she realized she had gotten completely past the earlier violence. Apparently, it didn't bother her _that_ much.

"Oh…" she sighed to herself softly. She turned in bed and hugged her pillow tightly in a vain attempt to will herself to sleep. She just needed to get her brain to slow down enough. Easier said than done.

* * *

The next morning everyone was up fairly early. It was the morning of the big match, the first game of the season. There was an air of excitement among the students. In the Gryffindor common room, it went almost completely unnoticed as Mike stood near the dormitory stairs, with a look of nervousness across his face. He waited as patiently as he could manage, putting on a superficial smile for Harry and Ron as they walked past. Jason escorted the two to breakfast early, insisting that it was because Harry was going to need the nutrition for the game.

Mike gave him a nod of silent thanks. He never said a word about it, Jason just knew he wanted a moment with Hermione. It was the blessing and curse of working so closely with someone. They knew you, sometimes better than you knew yourself. It was impossible to keep secrets, not that he really felt the need to.

A stir of movement caught Mike's eye in the staircase and he looked up. Parvati and her friend were walking down, and Mike swallowed the lump in his throat. He felt a bit embarrassed. All he was trying to do was apologize for yesterday, preferably _before_ he was called for punishment. He had been out of line, had known better than to knock a student out cold. _Even if the little prick deserved it._

"Morning." The voice startled him, and he realized he'd lost himself in thought. Hermione was standing at the foot of the staircase. She looked tired, though he thought he could see some light makeup had been applied. He smiled in spite of himself.

"Hey, you got a minute?" he asked. She nodded and followed him to a more secluded corner of the common room. Most of the students were headed to breakfast, ignoring them completely.

"What's up?" She struggled to keep her composure. Something had changed, and she was nervous about what was different.

"I wanted to apologize about yesterday," Mike said. "I was out of line. I-"

"Mike, I-" Hermione started, but Mike was determined to finish his apology before she made any decisions.

"I let my emotions get the better of me. You're an awesome girl, Hermione, and seeing anyone disrespect you irritates me." Mike shook his head, as though clearing it. "After the ordeal with Snape I was already bent out of shape, and then Malfoy…" Hermione opened her mouth to talk, but Mike continued. "I'm sorry. You don't need a caveman looking out for you. I can back off and-"

"No!" Hermione shouted a little louder than she intended, getting a few unwanted looks from passers-by and startling Mike into silence. Hermione fought through the bout of embarrassment. "You don't need to back off anywhere, I mean…."

"I… what?" Mike spent the morning preparing to distance himself from her, certain that's what she would want.

"It scared me," she started, and Mike's shoulder slumped. He'd never wanted to scare her. "When Malfoy came at us like that…I thought he was going to hurt someone."

"Uh…" his brain was having a difficult time processing. She was scared by Malfoy, not him? "I didn't scare you?"

"I mean, I didn't expect it." She played with the seam of her robe, not making eye contact. "It was kind of satisfying, watching him go down." Hermione looked up hesitantly, and Mike wore a mixture of confusion and amusement across his face. He wiped the half grin from his face and looked at her intently.

"I'd never let someone hurt you," Mike said seriously. "I just…" _really like you..._ He couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. He felt like a winner, she didn't want to avoid him completely. He didn't want to risk taking that luck too far. "I just can't believe you liked watching Malfoy get knocked out." He broke into his handsome grin, and she couldn't help smiling back.

"Thanks for standing up for me," she said. "It feels nice, having someone watch out for me."

"Don't worry," Mike replied, as they fell in step to head for breakfast. "I know you can defend yourself."

"It's just nice not to have to." They made it out of the common room, harassed by the painted knight as they left. They'd made it just down the staircase when a loud, angry voice called from across the hall.

"Sergeant Matthews!" Major Price's shout stopped everyone nearby in their tracks. "Briefing room, _now!"_

"That's my cue," Mike said, just loud enough for Hermione to hear. She watched him break off at a jog and wished him a silent 'good luck.'

* * *

"Sergeant, explain to me why there is a student in the hospital wing taking a goddamn bone healing potion for his fucked-up jaw." Major Price was standing, staring at Capt. Gordon and Sgt. Matthews who were both at attention.

"I punched him, sir," Mike said. "In the jaw," he added with a straight face.

"Goddamnit, Sergeant, I caught that part." The major sighed. "Why?"

"Sir, he approached us rapidly and in a threatening manner." Mike didn't elaborate more.

"I have half a dozen students saying Malfoy was talking, and you cold-cocked him." Price stared, waiting for the response.

"That might, technically, be accurate, sir." Mike's face betrayed no emotion.

"What the shit, Sergeant?"

"Sir, he was using aggressive body language. Being that a wand could be drawn at any time, I saw fit to end any possible threat before it could occur." Price thought about it a moment.

"Snape is calling for your removal from the school, and undoubtedly Mr. Malfoy's father will mirror that," Price said. "I have a meeting with Dumbledore and Fudge already today, about the incursion. Fudge wants us out of theater, this is not helping."

"Sir," Brad spoke up. "I've interacted with Draco before, he's a problem. If unchecked, something bigger could well have happened."

"I will no doubt have to bring that up," Price sighed. Damned special operators. "I've spent all morning collecting the incident reports surrounding Draco Malfoy, and you're damned lucky that he is an obvious troublemaker. Dismissed."

* * *

"Major Price, welcome." Dumbledore greeted the Major. Already in the office sat Fudge and another man that the Major didn't recognize.

"Cornelius, this is Major Price. He leads the soldiers here." Dumbledore began the introductions with a warm and welcoming attitude. Fudge nodded impatiently as the headmaster continued. "And this is Lucius Malfoy. He came along with Minister Fudge today." Dumbledore's voice never wavered from his welcoming attitude, but the Major got the impression that Mr. Malfoy was anything _but_ welcome.

"Gentlemen." Price acknowledged them with a nod.

"Shall we get on with it?" Fudge asked no one in particular. After a very brief moment, he started in. "Major, the fact that Black got past your security measures is an issue I cannot look past. I must insist that the safety of our young men and women be taken seriously." Fudge spoke like a true politician, something that irritated Price.

"As if that were not enough," Malfoy began, "I hear your men are assaulting students in the halls."

"Security measures are already in place to prevent any further incident," Price said without emotion, something he'd practiced often since becoming an officer. "Sirius Black _will not_ make it back into the school."

"The school looks like a fortress," Fudge commented, but Price continued on point.

"As for my units 'assaulting' students…that is simply inaccurate," Price said, looking straight at Malfoy. Malfoy opened his mouth to protest but was cut off immediately as Price set down a folder on Dumbledore's desk. "My officers compile reports of each encounter with students. This file details several incidents in which the student in question has made aggressive or inappropriate remarks or actions. My operator believed that a fight was about to occur, instigated by the student in question. He ended the threat immediately and aggressively, quashing any desire for further violence from the group accompanying your son," Price said. "Sir," he added almost as an afterthought.

"How dare you accuse my son of instigating this," Malfoy snarled. "He is laying in the hospital wing, recovering from a grievous wound inflicted by the very _men_ that are supposed to protect him."

"My own observations have led me to a similar conclusion about Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore chimed in pleasantly, "however, I expect that further attempts to refrain from violence will be made in the future." Dumbledore added it directly to Price. The Major nodded as Fudge thumbed through the incident reports.

"Of course. I have already had a conversation stating the same to the operator in question. I'll have a briefing later today about restraint with the rest of my guys."

"This is all well and good, but the best course of action is to remove these soldiers and replace them with the dementors. Under Ministry-" Fudge started in, only to be cut off by the headmaster.

"As long as I am headmaster of this school, dementors will not be allowed on the grounds," Dumbledore said sharply, closing the matter entirely. Fudge sputtered a moment, but had little he could officially do. Without a more stable case against the soldiers, something proving them incompetent to the task, he couldn't get the support to remove them. Not without Dumbledore's consent. The soldiers had already made changes in response to the two major problems, and with Dumbledore supporting them staying, he couldn't get the school's board against it.

"Very well," Fudge said, his voice edged with disappointment. Malfoy said nothing, but gave Fudge a look that said that there would be an unpleasant conversation in the near future. "Your men are on very thin ice, Mr. Price, very thin indeed."

"Major." Price corrected stone-faced. "My men will do their jobs. If your Aurors find and arrest Black, there will be nothing to worry about." Any hint of understanding vanished rapidly from the Minister's face.

"Quite." He turned to Dumbledore and continued. "There will be a trial for Buckbeak next month. If that is all…" Fudge never paused to see if it was, in fact, all as he turned and stormed out, followed by Malfoy.

"That went well…" Price said.

"As well as one could hope in these circumstances." Dumbledore watched the door a moment. "Is everything prepared for the Quidditch game this evening?"

"Yes, sir," the major replied. "I have a detail sweeping the field as we speak and there will be reinforced patrols _and_ protection details. If Black wants to use the event to get to Harry, he's got a tough fight ahead of him."

* * *

At the breakfast table, Brad and Mike were welcomed with hesitant smiles. Dumbledore sat at his table, pleasantly conversing with his staff.

"So, I guess you weren't expelled." Jason greeted Mike with a smile.

"Yeah, the Major's pissed but sounds like we're still here." Mike clapped Harry on the back. "How are you, buddy? Ready for the big game?" Harry smiled hesitantly. They had been run ragged practicing for the game, and it didn't help that the weather outside was nothing short of atrocious. The downpour of rain had only increased and the wind was getting awful.

"He's nervous, but he's got this thing," Eric said, getting it pretty right. Harry was in fact nervous. No one wanted to let Wood down, there was a lot of hope for a win.

"Care for some advice, bro?" Mike asked, sitting between Harry and Hermione.

"Sure," he said.

"Embrace the suck." Mike smiled, the phrase meaning a lot more to the operators. It was a saying their instructors hit them with at least once a week, usually more. "When it gets tough, embrace it, love it, and power through. While everyone else complains, you keep giving it your all. They won't know what hit 'em."

"Got it," Harry laughed a little, breaking some of his tension. They continued eating and conversing amongst themselves until breakfast was over. It was then time to part ways. While Harry had pre-game practice to attend, Ron and Hermione had plenty of homework to work on in the free time before tonight. The troops of Reaper team had a briefing to attend, plus a ready-check for all of their gear. It was going to be a busy day.

* * *

Less than an hour later, Brad and his team filed into a briefing room. It was an all hands day, and everyone above the rank of Sergeant was present for the meeting. Quidditch was one of the most high-profile events in the school, and that meant risk. Every eye turned toward the big game was one less looking out for Black, and if he wanted Harry this was a hell of an opportunity for it.

"If it ain't Mike…" SSGT Corbett, one of the guys from 3rd Platoon, shouted, raising his fists in a mock fight, "…Tyson!" He punched the air a couple times and broke out laughing, much to the amusement of the troops around him.

"Ah," Mike bowed his head, acknowledging the rip. Word traveled a lot faster than he'd expected, and he imagined he wouldn't live it down soon. "Didn't realize I was a champion."

"Champion?" one of the other sergeants said. "I'd have paid to see that bastard go down."

"I'd have paid to get the next hit in," a lieutenant chimed in. "Bastard had it coming. He-"

"Attention!" The shout reverberated through the room and everyone immediately stood at attention, facing the front of the room. They saw the Major walk in and regard them.

"Before we get this briefing under way, let me make one thing _crystal_ clear." Major Price stood rooted to the center of the room, behind his podium. "You are absolutely authorized to end a fight by any means short of killing, and I expect you to do so. _If_ , however, I find out one of you nails a student for mouthing off, I will personally choke slam you off the side of the motherfucking building. Clear?"

"Clear!" the group shouted as one, many of them trying to fight off grins. There was no doubt that the major was serious, but you had to love a good threat. More than one pair of eyes subtly went toward Mike. It was _definitely_ something he wasn't going to live down.

"Good. Take a seat, there's a lot to go over." The Major turned on the dreaded PowerPoint screen as everyone found seats.

"The first Quidditch game of the season is due to start at 1630 hours. This is a target for a lot of reasons, chief of which is the fact that everyone in the school is going to be there. If our HVT wants to make a move against Harry, it's a solid time to do so. If he wants to sow destruction, it's an opportune time." The picture of a broomstick went away, switching to an aerial view of the grounds.

"Our task today is not going to be easy. We need a heavy security presence at the game, patrols to ensure nothing gets near it, and we need to keep the castle secure. We are dividing tasks as follows: 1st Platoon will remain at the castle and keep all entrances secure. 2nd Platoon will put two squads on interior patrol, the remaining two will be acting QRF." There were several nods of affirmation, and lieutenants were taking notes, planning their own portions of the operation out as assignments were made.

"3rd Platoon will secure the Quidditch pitch. Disperse a squad throughout the crowd to keep an eye out for anything suspicious, the rest on active watch. 4th Platoon, you guys have patrol of the grounds. Reaper, obviously keep your charges safe, whatever you need to do." Major Price clicked the mouse again and several arrows showed up on the map. "I'll leave individual assignments up to the Lieutenants. I want these routes covered though. 1st Platoon-" Price went on for almost an hour, detailing where he wanted units placed, what routes patrols would take and where the two QRF squads would be stationed.

Brad planned out his own unit's operation. They would wear full gear, he couldn't think of a reason they needed to blend in. And with the shit weather, lugging that heavy gear around might keep everyone warm.

He planned on stationing Mike and Eric in the stands with Hermione and Ron. That would cover them, and it left Brad with Jason to cover the ground. He decided he and Jason would stay at the ground, not _on_ the pitch but right there. They would be able to watch the game and keep an eye on Harry, and if anyone moved on the field, the two operators would have an easier time responding.

"Any questions?" Price interrupted Brad's thoughts. Brad looked at his watch, it'd been a couple hours already. They needed to get gear in check, go over individual assignments and get to the game. "Alright, dismissed." No one needed to be told twice, their asses were sore enough from sitting and everyone was eager to get to their assignments.

* * *

Outside students ran to the stands, umbrellas whipping from their hands in the fury of the wind. Brad figured if they were planning to cancel the game for weather, it would have happened already. He wasn't sure how the players were supposed to play in this. It was almost impossible to hear the crowd, though they appeared to be cheering, over the rolls of thunder. Bright flashes of lightning struck across the sky. _Hell of a game._

Across the field he saw a group of students in yellow robes forming. Hufflepuff was his best guess. He glanced behind himself to see the Gryffindor team in their scarlet robes. They looked like they were huddling for a pep talk, but whatever it was never came. Their team leader gave a nod and everyone headed into the weather. Brad gave Harry as encouraging a smile as he could muster, then it was back to business.

If ever there was cover for an infiltration, this was it. It was tough to see past all the rain pouring down. He scanned the ground level for anything out of the ordinary, and saw nothing. He looked back to the center just in time to see everyone kick off.

They struck across the sky rapidly, faster than he expected for travel on broomsticks. He had no idea who was who, and in the rain had trouble enough determining which streaks were what team. The brief flashes of lightning helped, but only just.

It seemed to go on forever, and he divided his attention between scanning the ground for any possible threat versus looking in the sky to try to determine what in the heck was going on. How the hell did wizards enjoy this shit? You couldn't tell what was happening.

A figure began walking toward the center of the pitch, and Brad readied his rifle for a threat. It only took a moment to figure out it was Madame Hooch, and a single figure swept down on their broom to her. She blew her whistle, which he could barely hear, but it looked like everyone figured it out, as the players swarmed to the grassy field. They divided by team and huddled under cover to talk, the Gryffindor team near enough that he could actually hear.

"We are up by fifty points," Wood shouted over another roar of thunder. "If we don't get the snitch though, we'll be playing into the night." That would be a problem in and of itself. It was already pretty dark outside, and the cold rain and wind wasn't making life easier.

Harry mentioned something about his glasses, and as if to punctuate his statement, Hermione and Mike appeared out of nowhere. Mike briefed Brad as Hermione did something to Harry's glasses.

"So far, nothing." Mike was wet, but not soaked to the bone like most of the others. Lucky bastard was under the cover with the rest of the students, providing a limited shield against the rain. "Poor kids, I bet they can't see shit up there."

"Yeah," Brad replied just in time for everyone on the team to break back for the field. Clearly the time out was over. Hermione and Mike rushed back to the stands, disappearing out of sight as the brooms kicked off again.

This time, Brad knew which speck was Harry, and did his best to follow. Harry was slowly patrolling above everyone, looking for what Brad assumed was the snitch. One of the other players waived his arms, getting Harry's attention. Brad followed their line of sight and saw a streak of yellow chasing something. Harry darted after them. They must have found the snitch. They both angled up into the sky. _Hell of a sport…_

"…act!" Brad's radio crackled to life, but it was covered with static and on top, hard to hear over the blasts of wind and rolling thunder. "..nd Squa….ltiple con…." _Crack, crack, crack crack crack._ Were those gunshots? Brad and Jason shared a look before a bluish white light struck up in the distance, next to one of the patrol paths. Several dark figures darted away into the sky and Brad could see muzzle flashes in the distance.

"Contact, 2nd Squad is in contact!" Brad shouted into his radio, hoping his would have better reception than the distant patrol. "Confirmed deployment of a Mark I, dementors are on the grounds!" Brad gripped his rifle tightly, readying for a fight. Another streak of lightning skipped across the sky, illuminating what had to be close to fifty dementors, they were everywhere.

The crowd, who was until that point cheering wildly at the game, started a brief panic. Soldiers in the stands were fighting to keep everyone calm as more and more muzzle flashes and gunfire ripped into the sky, targeting dementors that struck out at the stands. Two more of the intense bluish lights sparked in the stands as more Mark I packs were deployed.

In the distance, Brad saw a pair of Humvees racing toward 2nd Squads' location, the lead Humvee's gunner tearing into a cluster of the dementors with its M134 minigun. The six-barreled gun fired between 2000 and 6000 rounds per minute, and it looked like a laser cutting into the sky. The dementors struck down at the Humvees quickly, and the rear Humvee gunner started cutting into the sky as well.

The players didn't need any further notice, streaking toward the ground as fast as their broomsticks could carry them. All but one. High in the sky, he saw a streak of crimson plummeting toward the ground. No broomstick, no control, just a fall. Brad watched in horror for a moment before seeing one of the black hooded figures racing toward the fallen player. Brad and Jason both shouldered their rifles simultaneously at the distant target, each firing several rounds.

If their rounds found the target, it didn't seem to harm it any. It was clear the shots did the job however, as the dementor altered its course toward the two operators. Neither hesitated, both firing as fast as they could pull the trigger, before several streaks of silvery light erupted from the stands. The streaks raced out into the night, and the dementors immediately gave up whatever chase they in the middle of, fleeing from what Brad assumed were full Patronus charms.

In the middle of the field, Brad saw Professor McGonagall whipping her wand at the fast falling body. It slowed a lot, but not enough, impacting the ground with a soft _thud._ McGonagall closed the distance quickly, even as Jason and Brad sprinted over. Jason knelt, rifle ready and covering the sky, just in case. Brad pulled out his IFAK, spreading the first aid contents on the wet ground. _Fuck me, that's Harry_.

Harry was unconscious, no shock after a fall like that. Brad could see what looked like a fracture to Harry's left arm, and several bumps and cuts. He was putting a pressure dressing on a bloody wound to Harry's leg when Dumbledore made it to the site conjuring a stretcher and raising Harry silently to it. Brad had never seen such a furious look on the Headmaster's face, and it ran his blood cold. Dumbledore started toward the castle, Brad and Jason each bringing up a flank to escort. Behind them, the Professors and troops fought to sort the chaos out and get everyone safely to the castle.

* * *

Harry woke in the hospital wing. It took him a minute of lying there to work out what was going on. He ached all over, and he replayed the events in his mind. The cold air, the snitch, the dementors coming out of nowhere. That screaming woman, her voice sent chills up his back.

He struggled silently to sit up. Around him, he was surrounded by the soaking wet, muddy Gryffindor Quidditch team. Hermione was next to Mike and Ron, and she had an olive drab blanket draped over her shoulders. Mike was rubbing her back as she shivered.

In several other beds, there were soldiers drinking hot chocolate with haunted looks on their faces. They had several uniformed soldiers accompanying them, offering soft words of support.

"Harry!" Fred shouted, and all of the idle conversation stopped. "How're you feeling?"

"What happened?" Harry remembered some of it, but not all of it.

"The bloody dementors attacked," Ron said.

"You fell off your broom," George added, everyone was trying to chime in at once.

"We thought you'd died…" Alicia Spinnet still didn't look convinced that he was alive.

"Diggory caught the snitch…" Everyone else fell silent as Wood spoke up. He didn't betray any emotion, everything was matter of fact. "Didn't see you fall. He was good about it, tried to call a rematch. But he won, fair and square."

The conversation about Quidditch continued for a short time until Madam Pomfrey got back from talking to Professor Lupin and Dumbledore outside.

"For heaven's sake," she rushed forward, shooing at the visitors. "How's anyone supposed to recover with all this racket, go on!" With a little convincing, several of the visiting soldiers next to 2nd Squad were allowed to stay, along with Hermione, Ron, Mike and Brad. The other two operators were debriefing with Major Price, Mike and Brad having already done so.

"Did someone get my broom?" Harry asked, his heart sinking when he saw the looks on everyone's faces.

"Harry," Hermione started, trying to figure out how to say it. "When you fell…the wind…oh, it blew into the Whomping Willow." Harry sighed, trying to fight away the crushing feeling. The broom was one of his most prized possessions. He'd lost his first game, lost his broom…

"Is everyone else okay?" Harry glanced over at the soldiers occupying other beds.

"No one died," Brad spoke up. "2nd Squad got hit pretty hard by the dementors, but they fought well and no one died. It'll just take a minute to get everyone back up to strength. In fact, they're staying here the weekend, same as you."

Their conversation carried on a little bit longer, until Eric and Jason returned. It was time for everyone to get to bed, and since Harry was staying in the hospital wing, Eric and Jason were going to stay as well, while Brad and Mike would spend the night in the Gryffindor common room. After a round of goodbyes everyone left for bed.

Brad knew tomorrow was going to be a hell of a day. Dumbledore was livid, as was Major Price and everyone else in the task force. Tomorrow, he had no doubt that Minister Fudge was going to have a lot to answer for.


	14. After the Attack

AN - I've been blown away by the number of views, thank you all for giving such a strange concept a shot. Comments are always welcome. Without further ado

* * *

It was still too dark to feel like morning and it already felt like a busy day. Brad left the common room under the care of Mike, long before others were awake. He knew that Major Price had plans for the day, and when he arrived at the Tactical Operations Center, he wasn't disappointed.

There was a veritable swarm of activity, all being led by a tired but alert Major. He was giving directions to one of the other officers who was furiously jotting down notes.

"Captain, good of you to join us." He beckoned Brad into the room, and they met in the center, where a large interactive map of the castle was laid out.

"What's the word, Major?" Brad asked, seeing several new additions to the security element at the school.

"I've got 24/7 sentry placement on these spots along the roof." He pointed them out. The vantage points, together, provided a 360 degree field of view around the castle. Nothing was getting close without alerting the sentries.

"That'll be a grueling task." Brad, same as everyone else in the Task Force, had been on guard duty at one point or another. It was not easy to stay focused and awake all the time, and with all the checkpoints, sentries and patrols, things were going to be running tight.

"I talked to Colonel Sumner last night, shortly after the incident," the major said, catching Brad's attention. He was curious how command was taking it. "The colonel said he would be here later today, and they're reinforcing us with another infantry platoon from Charlie Company."

"Not a lot, but every bit helps," Brad commented. Another fifty guys would definitely lighten the load around the castle.

"Their platoon, along with another sixty Mark I's should be here next week." The major tried to get more than sixty, but they needed a supply stateside as well. "Colonel should be here…" Price looked at his watch, "in another hour or two. Dumbledore should be summoning the Minister at some point, and we will get to the bottom of things."

"Good." Brad shook his head at the entire situation. "We almost lost Harry, they've got a lot of explaining to do."

* * *

Hermione's eyes shot open, her heart pounding hard. She was in her bed and she sat up slightly, feeling the weight of Crookshanks on her legs. The cat purred slightly, and rolled onto his back.

She'd been dreaming about the Quidditch game. When the lightning struck and she saw the shadows…she had never seen anything like it before. They were everywhere. Mike reacted faster than she could have expected, shoving her down to her hands and knees, shielding her with his body.

She felt the concussion of each round he fired, her eyes squeezed shut and her fingers in her ears. It didn't matter, it was still bright, still loud. When it quieted down for a second, she risked a peek and hated herself for the mistake. He wasn't done shooting, he was reloading. There was a dementor mere feet from them. Mike didn't stop, didn't falter or show fear.

With a practiced ease, he slid a new magazine in, racked the bolt forward and started firing. It didn't seem to hurt the dementor really, but it stopped the foul creature from advancing any further on them. She couldn't tear her eyes away at that point and her heart sank at the _click._ He began the process again, swapping magazines even as the creature barreled down on him. She could swear he was leaning into it as the creature closed in.

Words could not describe the relief that flooded through her as she saw a silver streak shoot past them. The dementor turned and darted away, chased by the light. Only after he scanned their surroundings, did he grab her hand and help pull her up. He had an unfamiliar look on his face, a mixture of concern and rage. Beside them, Eric was helping Ron to his feet.

"I'm sorry-" he started, but a fast movement behind him caught her eye. She gasped, and Mike turned around. They watched helplessly as Harry plummeted toward the ground. McGonagall raised her wand, slowing him but not stopping him. He hit the ground, hard and she was sure he died.

She couldn't help the tears that ran silently down her cheeks…it was too much too fast. She felt a hesitant arm around her shoulder and just leaned into it, letting the emotion flow. She wasn't sure how long she cried, the embarrassment of breaking down in public did nothing to ease the emotional overload. She heard him whisper that Harry was alive and was able to calm herself. She walked with him to the hospital wing in a bit of a stupor.

The rest of the evening had been a blur and she'd been so happy to just lay in bed. She'd felt so embarrassed, crying like that. She saw others crying as well, upset by the dementor attack. She had been in danger before, but this was something else. Perhaps it had something to do with the way dementors effect emotions, or so she told herself. She found some mild comfort in it.

She looked over at her clock. It was just after four in the morning, and judging by her rapid pulse, she wasn't falling asleep anytime soon. She pulled her feet from under Crookshanks, who protested with a grumbled meow, and got up.

Deciding that it was unlikely anyone else was up, she opted to stay in her favorite pajamas, a loose pink shirt and shorts with little panda heads all over them. They were distinctly muggle, a present from her mother last year. She decided she could study by the fire for a short time before getting ready for the day. There wouldn't be classes today, so she was certain everyone else would sleep in.

She quietly walked downstairs, _A History of Magic_ in hand, and was pleased to see the fire was already going. She rounded the couch, mesmerized by the dancing flames, and sat. The couch was a lot firmer than she expected, and she yelped when it moved under her. She darted up, and looked down to see that she'd accidentally sat down on Mike.

He was in his fatigue pants and undershirt, and looked like he'd been up all night already. He sat up, clearing room on the couch and patting the seat next to himself. He rubbed his eyes a little, and she worked on calming her heart, sitting down next to him.

"Mornin' sunshine," he smiled at her. A glance at his watch confirmed that it was in fact _much_ earlier than the usual wake up time, and when she hesitantly smiled back he grew a little more serious. "You alright?"

"Yeah," she nodded, maybe a little too quickly. Mike didn't move or respond, and the silence confirmed it. He didn't believe her, and honestly neither did she. "I thought we were going to…I don't know…I thought it was going to get us." She looked at him, and he bit his lip a bit with a concerned look.

"Me too," he agreed. She furrowed her brow a bit, not expecting that answer.

"You hid it well," she said, staring into the fire. She sat straight backed with her hands clasped between her knees. "I can't stop thinking about it. And Harry falling…."

"I know how it goes," he sat up a little straighter, a little closer to her. She relaxed into the couch a bit, letting the book slide off her lap and onto the other side of the couch. "It replays a lot. Just remember, it's done, and everyone is alright."

"You didn't look scared," she looked back at him, into his eyes. She tried to detect any idea of what went through his mind during the attack. He could tell she wanted the truth, that it would keep bugging her.

"I hit that thing dead on, and it didn't matter," he allowed the moment to relive in his mind. "It just kept coming closer, and I just decided to do everything I could to make it pay, make it regret coming after you…and me, all of us." He added the last part as an afterthought. "I wasn't sure I could stop it, and I was scared of what would happen if it got past me."

"It's like you said," she replied after a moment. "It's all over now, and everyone's okay." She felt bad about asking him to relive it. She'd wanted to know, but it was obvious that it bothered him too.

She sighed, and when she went to lean back, felt an arm slip around her shoulder. She leaned into it, eventually resting her head on Mike's chest. They didn't say anything more, she just tucked her feet under herself and sat there, listening to him breath and watching the fire dance. Before she knew it, they'd drifted off to sleep again.

* * *

Mike woke up with a sunbeam striking right into his eyes. He made to sit up, only to feel a weight on his chest. As he woke further, he gained better awareness of his surroundings. He felt a stirring against him and glanced down. A mess of bushy brown hair was pressed against his chest and his arm was laying out over her, holding her to him. He risked moving his hand slightly and was surprised to feel that her fingers were intertwined with his.

Without moving another muscle, he glanced at his watch. Just past six, someone was bound to wake up soon. It probably wouldn't do for them to be caught like this, but he hated the idea of moving anything. He felt like staying like this forever.

 _But that wasn't the responsible thing to do_. He took a deep breath, raising her head higher in an effort to stir her. The plan backfired as she took a deep breath and snuggled closer to him. Mike dropped his head low in a moment of defeat, his willpower tested to its max. He _really_ did not want to move.

Steeling himself, he moved to release his grip from hers and an electric jolt went through him as he found that his hand was resting on her bare abdomen. Her shirt had apparently climbed up as she slept, exposing just enough of her belly. In his surprise that they were holding hands, he hadn't realized that he was holding her there, and the adrenaline spike was almost painful. He fought hard to push the _mostly_ unwelcome thoughts from his mind.

Evidently, his hammering heart was enough to stir her. Or perhaps she felt his fingers brushing just below her navel as he'd released her hand. Whatever it was she stretched, pulling her shirt back down as she sat up. He followed suit, sitting up and fighting to remain composed.

"Erm…" She took in her surroundings and had a moment to think about the position she woke in. Her cheeks flushed red as the awareness struck her. "Morning." She'd be lying if she said it wasn't the best sleep she'd had in a while, as unintentional as it had been.

"Morning," he repeated, breaking into a hesitant grin. It didn't seem that she was particularly bothered by anything.

"Er, I'd better get ready for the day." She stood up quickly, pressing her night clothes nervously. She gave him one more sheepish smile as she picked up her book and darted toward the girls' dorm. Mike sat for a moment, cooling off, and got up to get ready himself. With any luck, she'd want some company for breakfast.

* * *

"Colonel Sumner, I am pleased to see you could make it," Dumbledore greeted the soldier warmly. Sumner was flanked by Major Price and Captain Gordon.

"It's good to see you again, Headmaster." The Colonel snapped a sharp salute, mirrored immediately by the fellow officers. Dumbledore gestured for them to relax and opened his mouth in reply, only to be interrupted by Fawkes crying out.

"Alas, it would seem the time for pleasantries must wait." Dumbledore looked to the door for only a moment before Minister Fudge came in.

"If my chief of staff is to be believed," he started, taking off an overcoat and shaking it in the corner before turning back around, "the walls of the castle are coming down. Now, what my dear fellow could-" He cut short on noticing the silent soldiers.

"Sir," Colonel Sumner nodded toward the Minister. "There's a lot to discuss."

"Quite true, I'm afraid," Dumbledore agreed. "Have a seat Cornelius." The minister did so, but obviously was opposed to the addition of muggle troops.

"Dumbledore," Fudge started through narrowed eyes. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Yesterday, during the first Quidditch game," Dumbledore was presently able to retain his pleasant demeanor, something that was difficult last night. "A great many dementors attacked the grounds. Mr. Potter was almost killed…and several soldiers were hurt."

Colonel Sumner, at the mention of the troops, looked as though he tasted something sour. It was clear he was displeased. The Minister sat silent for a moment, before bursting in a large, placating smile.

"Surely, you're mistaken Headmaster-" he started before being cut off by a sharp retort from Dumbledore, who obviously did not take kindly to being talked down to.

"There were nearly fifty, and people were _hurt._ " Dumbledore paused a moment. "This school is no place for dementors."

"My troops had to fight them off," the colonel added. "Your dementors attacked soldier and student alike. If it wasn't for the bravery displayed by my underequipped force, people could have died."

"Dumbledore, the dementors do not disobey orders from the Ministry." It was another canned response, one heard a hundred times as Fudge tried to push for their placement on school grounds. "If they were over the grounds, then the only logical reason is that they were pursuing Black. They probably only fought back when your panicky soldiers began taking potshots." Fudge seemed utterly convinced.

"There is no evidence Mr. Black was anywhere on school grounds at the time of the attack," Price said, resenting the implication that his men were anything _but_ professional fighters. "Dementors swarmed one of my patrols and in a few minutes they were all over the grounds. No one saw any indication that Sirius was involved in the fray."

"If your men hadn't shot at official ministry personnel, perhaps he'd have been caught yesterday!" Fudge exclaimed, latching onto the idea. "Dumbledore, I really must insist that this not continue. The ministry should handle the security-"

"Minister, we will _not_ discuss this again." Dumbledore's temper flared, surprising everyone in the room. "I was present yesterday, and will not allow you to slander the very men who protected my students. Recall your dementors to Azkaban."

"Or what, headmaster?" Fudge stood, obviously heated. " _You_ are not Minister. Now I'll hear no more of this nonsense. Good day!" He turned sharply and exited, leaving the stunned silent muggles with the Headmaster.

"Fucking politicians…" Price muttered, breaking the silence.

"I was a rather popular choice for Minister of Magic," Dumbledore said. "I didn't run for office, and Fudge was the next most popular. I fear he resents that he was second choice."

"Doesn't excuse his actions. He's turning a blind eye to a very real threat to the school's safety," Brad replied, stating the sentiment shared by the rest of the task force.

"Blinded by resentment notwithstanding, he's in charge and we can't change that," Sumner said, getting straight to business. "I am sorry for the attack on the school, and sorry we couldn't keep them farther at bay."

"Quite alright, Colonel." Dumbledore was in fact very pleased with the bravery displayed by the muggle soldiers. Knowing their weapons could do very little to stop the threat, they fought anyway, buying time for the staff to mount a true defense. "Your men did an exceptional job given the circumstances."

"Agreed," Sumner said. "On that note, with your blessing, I'd like to deploy another platoon to the castle. We have a shipment of Mark I packs being prepared as we speak and I can have both here within the week."

"Of course," Dumbledore agreed. He felt certain that the Colonel knew what he was doing and would not steer them wrong. With the way things seemed to be going at the castle, the extra manpower would not be a bad thing.

"Excellent," Colonel Sumner stood, his officers standing with him. "I'll have the orders drawn up, headmaster." After a sharp salute and some parting remarks, the soldiers left, heading to the briefing room for a private debriefing on events around the school. Once it was all complete, they finished up. The colonel had a long flight back.

"Before you go, I wanted to talk about the Mark I's, sir," Price said. The colonel stopped, giving the major his undivided attention.

"Go on," he said.

"Sir, they work fine to get dementors off our backs, but it's inadequate for the task at hand." The colonel nodded, and Price continued. "The range is too short to meaningfully protect an event like the Quidditch game. And frankly, we need a lethal solution."

"We are working on a Mark II, but there are no guarantees. It's expensive." Sumner stood, grabbing his things. "Between us, there is word of a project to enchant Patronus ammunition. Might help with the range issue, but we will see. Until then, make do with what you've got." He saluted and was off toward his scheduled pickup. Major Price mentioned some administrative work to do, and Brad wanted to find his team anyway, so they parted.

Being that it was still time for breakfast, he decided to start with the Great Hall.

* * *

Brad's trip to the Great Hall was much more eventful than he would have anticipated. It was just past 0700, and students were up, heading to and from breakfast. He was stopped several times in the halls and thanked for repulsing the attack. Students regarded him with an admiration that wasn't there before and he found himself ill prepared for it.

He'd made it almost all the way down the staircase before he spotted Mike, cornered by a pair of third year Ravenclaw girls. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, even more so as one of the girls tried to rub his biceps.

"You were _so_ brave yesterday!" she exclaimed, both girls giggling. They took another step closer, and Mike backed up the rest of the way, pinned between the wall and the two girls.

"Heh," he let out a nervous, joyless laugh as he hit the wall. "Just…the job…you know…CAPTAIN!" Mike shouted a little louder than he meant to, both girls jumping at the sudden shout. The relief on Mike's face was evident as he pushed his way past the two girls, who pouted slightly at his rebuff. "Gotta roll, duty calls."

"Mike," Brad greeted his fellow operator as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Mike joined him, keeping pace as they headed to the Great Hall.

"Damn, man," Mike said, looking over his shoulder as they walked on, seeing the two disappointed Ravenclaw girls still where he left them. "Suddenly it takes forever to hit the head because everyone wants to stop and talk."

"Not everyone loves us," Brad said as they passed a group of Slytherin students, all of whom gave a wide berth to the operators, scowls on their faces.

"Thank god," Mike replied, forming a half smile. "Maybe I'll start using their bathroom." The two made it to the table where Hermione, Ron, Jason and Eric were all almost finished with their food. Mike sat next to Hermione and got back into his meal while Brad started dishing up his own rapidly.

"So what'd Fudge have to say?" Jason asked, piquing the curiosity of everyone else at the table. While everyone wondered about what the Ministry would have to say, Hermione had brought up a rather scary worry. If the dementors were capable of ignoring Ministry orders, people could be in a lot of trouble.

"Denied the whole thing," Brad said, dumping the rest of the platter of eggs onto his plate. He was hungry and not going to mess around with neat scoops. "Said we brought it on, that they were probably chasing Sirius and we helped him escape."

"That's nonsense!" Hermione exclaimed, recalling the looming dementor clearly. "They were clearly trying to hurt us!"

"We know," Brad replied. "Sumner and Dumbledore are on it. We're getting reinforced with another platoon from Charlie Company next week and a shipment of Mark I's."

"At least _someone_ is taking things seriously," Jason said. The others muttered their agreement as Brad wolfed down his breakfast. It was a general consensus that they should go visit Harry after breakfast, so when Brad cleared his plate everyone stood and readied to leave.

The conversation on the way over was strained, the group nervous to see how everyone had fared overnight. Their chatter died down as they neared the hospital wing, however. Loud voices were arguing from inside.

"I feel fine, I shouldn't have to stay today too!" It was Harry, and he sounded distressed. Not quite angry, but definitely upset.

"You were attacked by _dementors!"_ Madam Pomfrey's voice was strained, as though she'd been arguing the same point for a while. "You almost _died!_ You need to rest."

The group had paused outside the closed doors to the hospital wing, unsure whether they should interrupt. Brad made the decision for the group, opening the doors and walking in.

"Please, lay back-" the matron halted, a supremely irritated look across her face as Brad entered the room. The rest of his team followed suit, Ron and Hermione hesitated a little and stayed next to the door. "And what are you doing here?"

"Here to check on Harry," Brad said. He turned to Harry. "How are you?" Harry looked at him, still frustrated.

"I'm _fine,_ " Harry insisted, more to the matron than Brad. "I don't need to stay here anymore, I just want to move on."

"I disagree!" Pomfrey exclaimed.

"My bones are healed already!" Harry shouted, shaking his limbs exaggeratedly as proof. "I don't hurt anywhere, there is no reason to keep me!"

"Hmpf!" The school matron squinted her eyes at the young student. He had been a regular at her hospital wing since the year he arrived, and the trend didn't seem to be letting up. She took the safety of her charges seriously, and Dumbledore's concern for the boy only increased hers.

"Is there _any_ medical necessity to keep him here?" Brad asked. She shot him a glare and he held his hands up in placation. " _Any_ reason at all?"

"Well," she frowned, mulling the question in her head for a moment. "No, not really." She sighed in defeat as the young student slid out of his hospital bed and headed for the door. "Try not to get hurt again!" she called after him. The group filed outside the room after him.

"Good to see you up and at 'em, buddy," Mike greeted Harry, only to be met with a scowl as the boy turned around.

"Shut up!" he cried out. "Where were you yesterday!? When my broom was being destroyed? When I was falling from the sky!?" His face was flush with emotion, and he looked at each of them in turn. No one said anything in reply, and he gave a joyless laugh. "That's what I thought." He turned on his heels and stalked off.

"Damn…" Mike said, the first to speak. "Dude's got some issues."

"He's stressed," Brad said. "Give it a little time, I bet he snaps out of it. Yesterday was a long one."

"Yeah, no kidding," Jason said.

"Let's give him a bit," Brad repeated. They'd figure something else out for the day.

* * *

Harry walked down the halls lost in thought. He'd finally fallen asleep but only after the first peek of light was coming through the windows. The night was filled with the pain of bones fusing together. The potion worked wonders and admittedly it was nowhere near as painful as growing an entire limb's worth. Still, it had been enough to keep him awake for most of the night. It seemed he'd just fallen asleep when he was woken up by the matron checking in on him. It was almost impossible to fall asleep after that. He felt tired but couldn't turn his mind off.

He was replaying the same several things in his mind. The dementor attack, hearing the woman scream about him. He was almost sure it was his mother. He didn't know who else would be begging for his life.

Inevitably he would wind up thinking about his Nimbus. That broom had been his pride and joy, a gift from Professor McGonagall when he first joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He'd put it to good use too, not losing a game with it. Well, not until dementors interrupted the game.

This cycle had run through his head most of the morning and when the school matron came to check on him again his frustration had boiled over. He'd felt better once everything had mended and he'd wanted to go. He'd wanted to get away from the hospital wing where the only thing he could think about was his utter incompetence in the face of a dementor and the loss of one of his most prized possessions. The matron wasn't having it, of course.

She'd argued tooth and nail until Brad showed up and pointed out the lack of necessity. Harry hated that it was ultimately Brad who convinced her, but took the opportunity to leave. In his tired state of irritation however, he wasn't prepared to thank Brad. No, Brad had 'rescued' him again, and Harry felt tired of it. He didn't want to need rescuing. He didn't want to be in any position to require it in the first place, let alone not being able to dig himself out.

As he walked on he grew to regret blowing up at them. They'd helped him a lot, keeping him safe. Knocking out Malfoy had been a huge plus, something he knew McGonagall would flip out about if he had done so. No, he felt he'd been too harsh with them.

"Harry?" a voice called, breaking the young student from his wandering thoughts. Harry looked up to realize he was now standing in Professor Lupin's office. The professor was sitting behind his desk and wore a concerned look.

"Professor… Er…." Harry trailed off. He hadn't intended to come to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room but apparently his feet had taken him there anyway. Now, he wasn't sure what to say.

"I heard about the game," Lupin said, gesturing for Harry to sit at his desk. Harry complied, relieved that the Professor had spoken up first. "I'm sorry about your broomstick. Any chance of fixing it?"

"No," Harry sighed, the wound still fresh. He was going to miss that broom. "The tree smashed it to bits." The professor frowned.

"They planted that tree my first year here, you know?" Lupin gave a partial smile as he reminisced about old times. "We used to play a game, trying to touch the tree trunk without getting hit. Until someone almost lost an eye. We were forbidden to go near it."

Harry nodded, finding it mental that anyone would _want_ to try and reach the trunk of that tree. After the car incident last year, he'd had enough of it.

"No," Lupin sighed, leaning back into his chair. "I suppose a broom wouldn't stand much of a chance."

"Did…" Harry started, and his voice stopped. He cleared his throat, and the professor focused more intently on Harry. "Did you hear about the dementors, then?"

"Yes, I did," Lupin started. "I don't think anyone has seen Dumbledore so angry. I suppose they're the reason you fell?" Harry slowly nodded his head for a moment.

"Why?" The question burst out of his mouth, though he hadn't intended to ask. The professor opened his mouth, but Harry continued. "Why do they affect me like that? Am I just we-"

"It has _nothing_ to do with weakness," Lupin said sharply, knowing the end of Harry's question. "The dementors affect you more than others because you have horrors in your past, unlike many of the others here."

Harry nodded. Lupin saw some level of understanding, but not enough.

"Dementors are among the foulest creatures to roam the earth," Lupin said, standing up from behind the desk to take a seat next to Harry. "They infest the darkest, filthiest places in the world, and they thrive on despair. They're enough to reduce the happiest man to a weeping mess. With such violence in your past your emotions are a feast to them. It's enough to make anyone fall from their broom." Lupin stared into Harry's eyes intently, searching for understanding.

"Yeah…" Harry understood, Lupin could see that much. However, his face remained blank. "Whenever they come near I hear Voldemort murder my mum…" Harry's expression was pained, and Lupin gripped Harry's shoulder comfortingly.

"Why did they have to come to the match?" Harry asked bitterly. Lupin paused a moment before answering.

"Dumbledore hasn't allowed them onto school grounds." The professor sat back, deciding to give Harry the full truth. "Without a steady supply of human prey they're hungry. The emotions running high at the game must have seemed like a buffet."

"Hmm," Harry frowned as he thought about it. "You," Harry said a little more excitedly, "you made the dementor on the train back off. And the professors, they sent them running at the game."

"Yes," Lupin admitted. "There are certain defenses one can use but the more dementors there are, the harder they become to resist."

"What defenses?" Harry asked. Lupin paused a moment and Harry decided to press further. "If they come back for me again I need to be able to defend myself…you could teach me. The soldiers can only do so much." He made a mental note to apologize for blowing up at them. He'd known he was out of line, yelling at everyone so much. He was just tired of being helpless.

"I can't pretend to be an expert at fighting dementors, Harry," Lupin said, feeling the conversation spiraling toward something bigger than he'd anticipated. He knew Harry was a natural in Defense, but learning a Patronus…it was no easy feat.

Harry continued looking at Lupin pleadingly, and Lupin wore down first.

"Alright, I'll see what I can do to help," he said causing Harry's heart to hammer in his chest. He wasn't going to be a sitting duck anymore. "It'll have to wait until next term I'm afraid. I have much to do before the holidays."

"Of course, Professor." Harry barely comprehended the words after Lupin's initial 'yes.' "Thank you, sir."

Harry spent the rest of the day milling about the school, which he found exhausted him. He went to bed early and was fast asleep by the time anyone else made it to the common room.

* * *

The following morning Harry was last to wake up. No one had left for breakfast yet, instead they were sitting around and listening intently. Harry silently crept down the stairs as Mike animatedly told the finishing touches of a story.

"I shit you not," he said, laughing. He took a breath to finish. "The Cap just blew…had enough. Told everyone to prepare to breach…you know, we line up outside the door…we're wondering how the hell he's planning on getting us in. We worked that door over…yeah, Brad here just walks down the hall, turns and gets a running start and just hucks himself into the door!" At this point, Mike can't seem to continue, laughing too hard. The infectious laugh had the others in the room joining in. "Folded the damn thing in half…."

"We took the room though," Brad said, smiling. "Damn instructors, thought they were gonna keep us out." Brad looked up at the staircase and saw Harry smiling. "Come on down, man."

The crowd quieted down, but not uncomfortably. No, Harry just had a look that said he had something to talk about.

"Hey, guys," Harry said, standing next to where Ron was sitting. Mike sat on the couch between Hermione and Jason, while Brad and Eric both had chairs next to the fireplace. "I wanted to apologize-"

"Hey, you're good, man." Mike said with a grin. "Tough day, we get it."

"Still, I was out of line. I know you were trying to help…I just hate feeling useless…like I can't defend myself." Harry caught a look between Mike and Brad, and said nothing further.

"Just saying…" Mike said, not elaborating further. Brad sighed, but didn't seem overly concerned.

"Mike mentioned that you guys might enjoy some practice…" Brad trailed off only continuing when everyone waited. "We could take you to the range today, practice some shooting…maybe a little hand-to-hand."

"What, like fighting?" Ron asked, trying not to get his hopes up. As the youngest boy in the family, he'd had his share of getting picked on. Getting to learn some fighting _outside_ the family would have its merits. Meanwhile, Hermione gave Mike a skeptical look, which he replied to with a smug look.

"Well, not fighting _exactly._ A mixture of training and playing would be a better way of putting it," Brad said. The boys looked sold but Hermione had a concerned look.

"It's a learning experience, nothing more," Mike said, flashing his bright smile at her. "Only this time, _I_ get to do the teaching." She'd been concerned, wondering what Dumbledore might think of the soldiers teaching combat to the students. This wasn't exactly combat and it was hard for anyone to argue that they didn't have a penchant for danger, and knowing how to defend oneself was paramount to survival.

"Okay," she said, and somehow Mike's smile got bigger.

"Great," Brad said, "we can hit the range after breakfast."

* * *

After breakfast the Reaper operators lead the three students to the armory where they got into full gear and selected a few items to bring along for training. Brad gave them each a set of fatigues to change into, telling them that robes wouldn't be appropriate for the work they were doing.

Half an hour later they'd made it to the makeshift firing range. It was clear on the other side of the lake, and some enchantments provided by Professor Flitwick kept the sound from waking anyone up. The good professor also agreed to come out and touch the range up twice a week, waving his wand to repair damage to the ground and targets. This was in exchange for a series of fiction fantasy novels one of the soldiers had brought along, which Flitwick found 'delightful' and had recently told Brad he was reading for a second time this year.

"Alright, so this is the range." They stopped at a set of tables, Mike and Eric setting their boxes on one while Jason set his heavy M249 SAW onto the other. The three students took it all in. To their left, closest to the lake were several thick dummies on heavy poles. To the right and closest to the Forbidden Forest there were several smaller tables lined up with targets all at the same distance. Directly ahead lay the heart of the target range, dozens of targets at varying distances, some completely visible and some hidden under cover.

"So…" Hermione asked, "what do we do?"

"Well…" Brad found he wasn't exactly sure. He looked them over, noticing Ron ogling the hand-to-hand dummies, while Hermione was looking more nervously at the distant target range. "We'll split up. Jason and Eric, you two take Ron over the hand-to-hand range and run him through the basics. Mike, you and Hermione can go to the CQC range and work with handguns. Harry and I will stay and do some shooting here. Sound good?"

"CQC?" Hermione looked at Mike questioningly.

"Close quarters combat," Mike smiled. There were various murmurs of approval as everyone set about their tasks.

"Alright," Brad said, pulling the magazine out of his rifle and locking the bolt back, clearing it before holding it out to a very hesitant Harry. "This is my rifle, an HK416." Harry accepted the weapon, looking it over. "It has a thirty round magazine," Brad waved the mag he was holding, "firing the standard 5.56mm round out to about 300 meters. This one has some sweet, sweet modifications that I could bore you with but let's get you shooting, huh?"

Harry handed the rifle back, feeling a mixture of nervousness and excitement. He'd seen guns in movies plenty of times, but was generally unfamiliar with them. He paid close attention as Brad started walking Harry through the proper procedures.

* * *

A little further down the line Mike and Hermione were standing at a table in the middle of the CQC range. It was where they preferred to practice use of handguns and other close quarter's weapons.

"Any questions?" Mike asked, having gone over all of the general gun safety rules. Hermione shook her head no. "Good, so here ya go." He set the handgun down on the table, placing the loaded magazine next to it.

"Right." She hesitated only for a moment before picking up the gun, feeling the weight in her hand. It was an HK USP .40 Cal, designed by the same manufacturer as their standard rifles. She turned it over, looking at it, finding the safety easily enough.

"So, you put the magazine in, and then hit that lever next to your thumb to release the slide." She did so, just as he had shown her earlier, and was still surprised at the force when the slide rammed itself forward. "Great, so now you're live…got one in the chamber."

"Okay, so…" she said, trying to remember what he'd said. It had been a lot of information at once.

"Feet shoulder width apart, aim downrange and line up those sights, just like we talked about." Mike smiled at her as she complied, though she couldn't see it. The fatigues she wore suited her, bringing out her curves in a way he'd not often seen. He found he liked it.

"Safety, then pull…" she said out loud to herself, breaking Mike from his lapse in concentration. He shook his head a little, affirmed her that she was ready to go and waited.

 _Crack_! She yelped a little and jumped back as the weapon kicked in her hand. He'd warned her that it would but she still found herself unprepared and almost dropped it. Mike didn't seem to mind though, as he beamed at her.

"Deadshot!" he exclaimed, turning her confused attention to the target. It was in the second ring from the middle. "Can't ask for much better on your first shot!" His genuine smile was more than she could bear, she smiled as well.

* * *

The day carried on much the same, everyone trying all of the different weapons and trying their hand at striking and kicking dummies. Ron, it turned out, preferred a bit of a thrashing fighting style, just moving body parts and hoping to strike something. A few hours of sparring with Jason had him aiming, which was a drastic improvement.

Harry was actually a natural with the rifle, proving a decent shot at the end of a day of getting used to it. He'd also done fairly well in his sparring match with Brad, landing a particularly good blow to the captain's nose.

Hermione, it turned out was not a natural with firearms. She'd grown frustrated with the weapons after her first shot turned out to be mostly luck. Even when the others were done, she was determined to get it right and so she stayed with Mike at the range. Mike was patient with her, and when she decided she'd had enough shooting he was encouraging, telling her it wasn't for everyone.

"Hell, you're a witch, right?" Mike asked. Hermione's face was red in frustration and embarrassment. "Use your wand, show those targets who's boss."

"That would be cheating," Hermione said, her voice breaking slightly as she fought to calm herself. She worked to pack the rest of her gear into its case, focusing hard on it. She hadn't failed at a lesson so spectacularly in a long time. She was a natural learner, and after all day had nothing to show for it.

"Listen to me," Mike said, deadly serious. It caught her off guard, and she looked up. "There is _no_ cheating in a fight. You do what you've gotta do to win. Guns, knives, hands, teeth…wands…they're all tools to get the job done. You're good at magic, use that. Don't worry about the other crap."

She was taken aback by it but it made a certain sense. She was so focused on being good at shooting the gun that she'd lost focus on what she was _really_ doing…fighting. Protecting herself, whatever it was called. Just because it wasn't a gun didn't mean she couldn't defend herself.

"Give it a shot," Mike said softer, gesturing toward the targets. Hermione's blood was still pumping hard, her frustration not fully forgotten. There was one spell she'd read about that she'd had no way of trying before. It was supposed to be destructive, and she hadn't been in a place to give it a try before. She took a step toward the targets, pulling her wand out.

"Bombarda!" she shouted. A white pulse shot from her wand straight into the target, obliterating it and the ones on either side of it, in a loud explosion. It was much more destructive than she'd thought it would be, and she turned to Mike in horror. She had destroyed half of the CQC range.

"Holy shit!" Mike shouted distantly. Only he was close to her, and it took her a second before she realized her ears were ringing. She could see him shaking and she hesitantly grinned when she figured out what was going on. Mike was laughing. Hard.

"I'm sorry?" It was half statement and half question. Judging by his reaction he wasn't upset.

"Sorry?" Mike said, straightening up as he tried to stop the fit of laughter. "That was amazing! Stick to magic, girl!" He closed the short distance between them and hugged her. It was quick, over before she'd have liked. They packed up the gear and headed back, Mike admiring her magical prowess the entire way.


	15. The Exercise

Very sorry for the delay folks, life has a way of doing that. The story is alive and well, it just took a lot more time than I'd like to get this chapter up. Thanks for reading!

* * *

Harry put all of his effort behind the punch, throwing a haymaker that would knock someone's lights out. He felt a light impact against his fist as Brad caught it. Before he could react, he felt the pull on his arm. It lifted him off of his feet as he rolled over Brad's back, landing hard on the ground. He barely had time to register hitting the stone floor before he was roughly rolled onto his side, his arm twisted behind his back.

"Agh!" he cried out, patting Brad on his leg with his free hand. Brad immediately let go and helped Harry off of the ground.

"What'd you do wrong?" Brad asked. Harry was panting, this being the sixth such time in the last hour that he had been unceremoniously thrown to the ground. He'd been spending three mornings a week waking up early for a sparring session with Brad. The three students had attended several outings at the range, but Brad was spending a little extra time with Harry.

"I…don't know…" Harry panted, wiping sweat from his brow. Brad had been patient in teaching Harry, but remained wholly unforgiving. He'd show Harry the how, explain the why, but damned if he would _let_ Harry land a blow. As Brad told him, "If you plan to hit me, you're going to earn it."

"You're trying to hit too hard," Brad said, throwing Harry a towel to wipe off sweat with. They would both need time to clean up before breakfast, so now was as good a time as any to end the sparring session. "Hitting _too_ hard means hitting too slow. You're telegraphing what you want to do, giving me plenty of time to counteract."

"Right," Harry sighed in frustration. He couldn't seem to win. Brad seemed to know everything Harry tried.

"You need to focus on moving a little faster, and being a little more unpredictable." Brad patted Harry on the back. "Let's get cleaned up. We will try again in a couple days." The two headed toward the common room for showers.

"You get him yet?" one of the sentries asked as they made it to the top of the stairs. It wasn't a secret among the troops that Harry was sparring with Brad, and they had various pools on when and especially _if_ Harry would land a hit.

"Not this time," Harry admitted, a hint of frustration behind his voice. Brad smiled as the sentry shook his head.

"You'll get him," the solider replied, shooting an amused glance at the captain. With that, they'd made it to one of the most dreaded parts of each morning.

"HALT, SCOUNDREL!" Sir Cadogan hollered at them as they approached. Brad rolled his eyes as Harry took a step forward.

"Dilligrout," Harry said firmly. The knight looked Harry up and down, then turned to the captain and stared unmoving.

"Seriously?" Brad asked rhetorically. "Dilligrout."

"Very well," Sir Cadogan said, obviously unhappy, but opening regardless. He'd received a talking to by the Headmaster about the amount of grief he was giving the soldiers. He was told explicitly to open when someone gave the password. He'd taken it to mean that each _solider_ had to say the password, something that the students did not often have to do.

"Pain in the ass," Brad said under his breath as they made it inside. They headed to the shower room, each to their separate stalls to clean up. By the time they'd finished and gotten dressed for the day, almost everyone else was up.

Most of them were busier though. The majority of the student body would be leaving for Christmas vacation, so it was time for the last minute packing. Harry, Ron and Hermione would all be staying, partly for their own reasons and partly in solidarity with Harry, who was unable to leave even if he wanted to.

"Morning, boss," Mike called out as Harry and Brad hit the last of the steps. The rest of the gang waited patiently, talking amongst themselves until Mike's callout. "Any luck?"

"No," Harry said. The shower had cooled his frustration, and he figured he knew what to try during the following session. "Next time though."

"That's the spirit!" Mike gave Harry a friendly punch to the shoulder as the group made its way toward the breakfast hall. It was going to be a busy day, especially for the operators and their fellow soldiers.

The Task Force would be escorting the students to Hogsmeade for a final visit for half the day, before they boarded the train and headed home for the break. After that it would be three weeks without the majority of the student body, until their return in early January.

The conversation picked up as everyone headed down for breakfast.

* * *

"Settle down, everyone," Major Price called out. The briefing room was packed, everyone from Staff Sergeant and above attending the briefing. The addition of a platoon from Charlie Company only served to stack the room further. The idle chatter died down, and the Major began his briefing.

"Alright, we all know that today we are escorting the students to Hogsmeade for a final visit before they board the train and leave for their Christmas vacation." There were several nods of affirmation as he continued. "I now have confirmation, as of last night, that the Headmaster was able to work out a deal with the Ministry of Magic. We will be deploying a platoon to Hogsmeade for the duration of the Christmas break, taking over for the Ministry." There was a ripple through the troops at the news. The Ministry, thus far, had been pretty hardline against deploying TFA anywhere.

"What caused the change of heart?" Brad asked, voicing the question held by everyone in the room.

"Faculty wants to be able to move back and forth between the castle and Hogsmeade during vacation. After the attack at the Quidditch game, Dumbledore had the ammo needed to make it happen." Major Price held a serious look on his face. Though the official stance within the Ministry was that nothing had actually occurred and dementors were completely under Ministry control, there was enough unofficial doubt cast to cause a review. Dumbledore was able to negotiate the removal of the dementors from Hogsmeade during the review, along with making sure the timing was during the Christmas holiday and not after."The Minister is undoubtedly going to be paying close attention, and any major slip ups in safety are going to be a way for them to kick us out of here. Don't fuck up."

The next several hours consisted of a detailed plan of individual assignments, down to the squad level, for each of the five platoons. Apparently, command had decided to use numerical order. 1st Platoon would leave within an hour of the briefing to secure Hogsmeade from Dementor control. 2nd Platoon would handle security up and down Hogs Highway for the day, while 3rd provided the student body escort. 4th Platoon and half of 5th would continue security at the castle and its grounds while the rest of 5th Platoon acted as the Quick Reaction Force, ready to respond rapidly to any threat. A pair of AH-64 Apache helicopters would be dispatched from RAF Lossiemouth to escort the Hogwarts Express back into muggle territory, where it was deemed highly unlikely that Sirius Black or any others would present a threat to the students.

Questions were asked and answered until everyone thoroughly understood their day's assignments. Once clear, they were dismissed. 1st Platoon headed immediately for the armory to gear up for their assignment. Each soldier in 1st Platoon was being issued a Mk I Patronus Pack, in light of the recent incursion. They were being issued at the squad level for everyone else.

Brad and his team headed to the library, as they had made previous plans to meet up with Harry, Ron and Hermione for a study hall of sorts. Classes were over, but several of the less favored teachers had assigned homework to be completed during Christmas vacation. Professor Snape, worst of all, assigned six rolls of parchment on the various uses of Doxy Eggs and how to collect them.

No one was excited about it, but Hermione had the idea that if they did a study hall, the projects could be completed in short order, leaving the remainder of the holidays for relaxation. Mike, unsurprisingly, seconded it and no one else had a good argument against it, so the plan was set. They'd work in the library for a few hours until time for the Hogsmeade visit, and then several hours a day until the assignments were complete.

"Hey, guys!" Mike greeted as the four operators took seats with the trio. All three winced even before Madam Pince had the chance to respond.

"Quiet," she scolded them, receiving a momentarily confused look from Mike. "This is a library, hush." Madam Pince stalked back toward her work room, while Brad smacked Mike across the back of the head.

"Nice, genius," Brad continued the scold. "Got any firecrackers you'd like to light off as well?" Mike gave an innocent look that no one believed, before turning to the trio again.

"Hey, guys," he repeated, this time much quieter. "Getting anywhere?"

"Yeah," Hermione replied, "we're already done with the first scroll."

"Already, she says," Ron huffed, "We've only been here all morning."

"Quality work takes time," Hermione defended.

"Do we need an Outstanding on every assignment?" Ron asked, a little too loud.

"This is a LIBRARY!" Madame Pince called out from her room. "Quiet!"

"Shut up and work, bro." Mike punched Ron in the shoulder playfully, but nevertheless it was taken seriously. After almost an hour, a second scroll of parchment was done and the trio were well into their third. Mike was leaned back in his chair with his head lolling in boredom, while Jason and Eric flipped through a book on dangerous creatures. Brad was counting the time until they needed to gear up.

Finally, Brad rapped his fingers along the table, sitting up. "It's time."

There was a palpable feeling of relief from the others. The boredom had been severe, and though Ron and Hermione would never say it aloud near Harry, they were looking forward to the Hogsmeade trip. Harry, of course, would not be able to accompany them. No matter the security placed on him, the staff and soldiers alike remained firm. He would not leave the safety of the school unless absolutely necessary.

"We'll meet you outside the Great Hall doors," Mike said, mostly to Hermione. The soldiers dismissed themselves, off to gear up, while the students packed their homework. An awkward silence hung over them as they packed bags.

"I'll bring you a bag from Honeydukes." Ron broke the silence first. Harry was doing his best not to make his friends feel bad, but it was tough. He felt left out, and that was hard to hide.

"Thanks," Harry replied numbly. The façade of spending the day together on homework was over, and with their bags packed it was time to part ways. They made it to the stairs in silence and Harry turned to his two best friends. "See you later."

"Yeah," Ron replied. Hermione gave him a half smile, knowing he didn't want to stay alone but not exactly willing to volunteer to stay as well. She would if he asked, and he knew it. Both of his friends would, but he wouldn't put them in that position.

Harry watched them on their way down the stairs until they were out of sight, then lugged his bag back to the Gryffindor common room. There was no sense carrying it around the castle with him. He planned to go to the Quidditch pitch to clean his broom.

"Psst…Harry!" a voice called out from behind him, and he almost jumped out of his skin. He turned quickly to see Fred and George standing almost behind a statue, as though they were trying to hide.

"Bloody…" Harry muttered to himself. The twins didn't mention his fright, so Harry continued. "What are you two doing here?"

"We've come bearing gifts," Fred said, winking mysteriously as George pulled a parchment from his pocket.

"What's this?" Harry asked as George handed him the parchment.

"This, mate, is the secret to all of our success."

* * *

The handoff went without a hitch, and things around the castle had been quiet for the first week of the Christmas Holiday. Students were back home visiting family, and the small handful remaining were excited to have free access to Hogsmeade for the duration of the holidays. With the soldiers actively and constantly patrolling the school grounds, Hogsmeade and the Hogs Highway, it was the safest anyone felt all year.

More than once, it was said that no matter where you stood, there was at least one soldier in sight. Without the looming threat of dementors nearby, students and staff alike were able to get around and enjoy their vacations.

The peace and quiet wasn't to last however, and it was never more apparent than that morning. Warnings had been set out throughout the school and even to the townsfolk in Hogsmeade. It would be a loud day, as the soldiers of TFA were performing a series of exercises. Battles to keep the men and women honed and prepared to fight.

"Hey, snap out of it, bro." Mike hucked a small stone, cracking Harry in the arm. Harry was knocked from his reverie and back into the present. With as often as the trio were 'training' with the operators, they were all curious how they would fare against opponents. It took some convincing, but Major Price and Dumbledore relented and allowed Harry, Ron and Hermione to accompany Reaper in the field during the exercise.

Everyone was using the stun ammunition, which as it turned out were perfect for training exercises. The stun effect prevented any form of cheating, which was difficult to do with the paint based simunition, but not impossible. Their current objective was to infiltrate the castle and make it to the command center to assassinate Major Price. 3rd and 5th Platoons were defending the castle and it was up to Reaper and the three students to make the attack.

"Jason, take Harry, Ron and Hermione to the west side of the castle, there should be plenty of cover near Hagrid's pumpkin patch. Use your SOLDA to get an M32 and dump smoke at 1445. Make a lot of noise, I want them focused on you." This was going to be one of the first deployments of the satellite based Orbital Cargo Deployment System, or OCDS. The US military had spent a fortune placing weapons, equipment and even some small vehicles inside a large satellite. On request, it would automatically load and launch the requested supplies to special operators. It was tremendously expensive, but the idea was to increase the combat efficiency of special operators without increasing the load they carried into battle.

"It'll be my pleasure," Jason said. The M32 was a six round revolving grenade launcher. He could accurately place grenades to almost 400 meters, and filled with smoke grenades he could create an effective screen to prevent the defenders from seeing what was going on.

"Eric, Mike and I will approach from the water to the east. We will take the first years' boat ramp up into the castle and move in from there. Any questions?" Brad asked. There were none. This was the first time the three would see any form of combat, and they were varying in attitude. Harry was eager to see how he would perform, even if he was a little nervous. Hermione had some ideas on creating a distraction and was looking forward to the ability to try them out. Ron was reluctant but unwilling to let his friends do this alone. He was vocal about his desire not to be shot however.

"Good. You guys just remember what I taught you. Take cover and make noise," Brad said. They nodded, clearly as ready as they would get. "Give 'em hell."

The teams departed, each headed to their respective objectives. It didn't take long for Jason and his team to sneak into a position in the woods outside Hagrid's hut. Jason looked at his SOLDA. The data pad was a flexible screen attached to the inside of his left arm. It showed all of the data a soldier could want, nearby friendly units, up to date maps, access to footage from spy satellites and UAVs, even access to the NATO High Value Target database. Its newest feature, however, was the most exciting.

For a long time, operators were limited to what they carried into battle. Perhaps, if lucky, they could find valuable equipment or enemy resources. Air dropping supplies was always risky, especially if you don't have total dominance of the airspace. OCDS was changing that, allowing operators to carry their standard gear and request supplies on the fly during a mission.

He could see the rest of Reaper had made it into the water. It was time to make some noise. He switched to the order screen. Rifles, rocket launchers, grenades, medical supplies, even a few ATVs and a personal underwater jet frame. They thought of all of the contingencies. He ordered an M32 and a supply of 40mm grenades and set the coordinates to the pumpkin patch. ETA of two minutes…not bad.

"Reaper 1-1," Jason whispered into his headset, "Ordinance ETA 2 mikes, you're a go in 3." He heard a click of the radio, confirming his transmission. He spent a minute analyzing the terrain before a loud noise became too much to dismiss as background noise.

"What on earth is that sound?" Hermione asked. The three students were deeper in the woods, their lack of experience in stealth operations made Jason extra careful in letting them closer to the woodline.

"That must be the supply drop," Jason said. It was the first time he'd used it. "Not exactly stealthy." He looked up. Two bright streaks were rapidly descending toward the patch. "Time to make some noise." He hefted his M249 SAW, the light machine gun perfect for the task at hand. Its belt of 200 rounds would help make it sound like the entire team was down there in the patch, instead of just him. He waved the trio forward and they darted into the open.

The OCDS drop turned out to be a bit of a blessing. It was a rare thing to see something dropping from orbit, and the defending soldiers paid more attention to the drop than the grounds. The four had made it almost three quarters of the way to the patch before the first defender began firing on them. Jason immediately dropped to a knee, leveling his SAW and unleashing several ten round bursts in the general direction of the defending troops. It wasn't particularly accurate, but it was enough to get heads down so they could reach better cover.

By now the streaking sound was nearly deafening. Jason looked up in time to see the two modules as they slammed into the ground only 40 feet ahead of him, dead center of the pumpkin patch. One more push forward and they'd be there. Both modules were upright and producing heavy steam. He tapped a button on the SOLDA, initiating a code that caused explosive bolts to detonate, opening the face of the case and exposing the contents of the modules.

"Cover me!" Jason shouted. The defenders were still getting their bearings, and Jason intended to take full advantage of it. Ron stood straight up, much to the shock of his two friends.

 _Crack!_ The report of a heavier caliber rifle, probably a sniper or marksman, was heard just after Ron's hair blew about, a red streak smacking him square between the eyes. Ron collapsed, a picture of agony. Jason was out of cover and moving to the grenade launcher. Hermione, still under cover, whipped her wand in a perfect formation.

" _Illusius!"_ she cried out. A dull green orb shot from her wand, growing larger and larger until it was the size of a small car. It was a ghastly head and it contorted its face cruelly, launching itself at the defenders. Many of the troops dove for cover, the rest firing as rapidly as they could manage at the giant spectacle. It broke its attack at the last minute, lifting up and coming back down at them again.

"What is that?" Jason called out to Hermione as he loaded the smoke grenades into his launcher.

"It's an illusion. It can't really do anything, but it's big." She wasn't lying. It was keeping the attention of almost every defender on site. Jason thanked her silently for knowing such strange spells and leveled the launcher.

 _Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk…_ He fired off every one of the six rounds, one after another, in an even spread. As soon as he ran out, he loaded more, and fired them. Soon, the field was coated in smoke so thick it was hard to see anything. The ghostly shape started to fade off, and Jason leveled his SAW, starting to send rounds down range.

"Moving!" Harry called out, running low and fast to Jason. Harry was carrying two more reloads for the SAW, freeing Jason of that added weight. Hermione peeked from her cover once more for a spell.

" _Avis!"_ She called out, and kept waiving her wand about. Birds shot from her wand, and continued to do so as she waived it. They flocked into the smoke, and Jason could see the red streaks as the defenders tried to get their bearings. So far, the distraction was going well.

* * *

Sergeant Sara Freeman looked on at the spectacle ahead of her. She'd never seen anything like it. First, the two missiles or whatever they were rocketing down from the sky. They hadn't done much damage at all when they landed in the pumpkin patch, but she and the rest of her squad had been sure that Hagrid's hut was getting flattened. The lack of explosion was surprising and they'd tried to recover to the best of their ability.

Now they were suddenly fighting a giant green head. She'd fired at it till her magazine went dry, and when she saw several of her squad were ducking instead of fighting back it pissed her off.

"Get your asses back on the line and GET SHOOTING!" she hollered. She'd always had a small frame, it was something she'd been picked on for when she was younger in the Spartan program. She made up for it with a _very_ loud command voice. In fact, she was certain it was one of the reasons she made Sergeant. People didn't ignore her when she yelled.

True to form, the men in her squad got back up and started firing. The giant head had broken off its attack at the last second and was slowly making its way about for another run. No casualties so far, but it hadn't escaped her notice that there were several smoke grenades around their position.

"For fuck's sake," she sighed. She could see a figure in the patch leveling a launcher for another salvo. She took aim and was just getting ready to fire when the giant head was close enough to be the bigger threat. Stopping the smoke would have to wait.

 _Crack crack crack_ , she took individual shots, aiming at the eyes. She wasn't sure how to hurt the thing, but if video games taught her anything, it was to aim for the weak spot. She figured it was worth a shot here too.

"All teams to the front gate," Sgt. Freeman heard over the radio. _What?_ It looked like this was it, but sending everyone? It was quite a gamble. The head again turned away at the last second and it started to dissipate. She allowed herself a moment to thank the lord at the turn in luck, but was pulled to the present when she saw what was happening around her.

There had to be a few dozen smoke grenades all spewing the concealing gas. It was harmless but soon they wouldn't be able to see a thing. She aimed out toward the pumpkin patch, letting loose a volley of rounds, while she could still reasonably see.

 _Crack, whiz whiz…_ She ducked down. She'd have called it too fast if her experience in battle hadn't taught her there was no such thing as taking cover too fast. Not when you could hear the whiz of bullets whipping past your head.

She saw more reinforcements pouring out of the castle toward them. One of them lost their rifle and tumbled down the staircase as a green jet struck him in the chest, obviously a spell. This was turning into a _massive_ clusterfuck.

* * *

Slowly, methodically, Brad crept his head up from the water. He was careful, moving slow enough to prevent any sound, any ripples. His eyes made it above the water even as his lungs were screaming at him for air. His discipline prevented him from moving any faster though. His barrel crept up from under the surface, then his nose. He let the remaining water drain from his nostrils before slowly exhaling and inhaling. Once his shoulders were out, he was swiveling, rifle at the ready for any threat.

Mike and Eric had done the same, and it only took a few moments before they were satisfied that the room was clear. They made their way slowly to the edge of the dock, then one at a time hefted themselves out of the water. They stayed crouched low, letting much of the water drain from their uniforms and equipment while they listened for anything nearby. It was silent.

Brad stood halfway, waving the team forward. They moved forward quietly, suppressed weapons aimed at the doorway leading into the school. The suppressors were helpful to reduce sound, but they were far from silent. Once they fired their first shot, it would be a race against time.

They stepped through the door, clearing the hallway beyond. It led directly to the staircases and would be a straight shot up to the third floor, and then it was a matter of getting to HQ. He could hear the gunfire outside, it sounded like a hell of a fight. They must have bought it and sent the guards from down here outside. Brad counted his lucky stars and they moved on. At the foot of the stairs they listened closely. They could hear boots upstairs, but there was no line of sight.

"Rapid approach, go." Brad ordered. They began jogging up the stairs, rifles aimed and ready to go. They knew that guards would be up there and instead of relying on stealth to get them further, it was time for the other two components of a successful assault. Surprise and violence of action. They reached the top of the stairs before the interior guard knew what was on them.

Rounds coughed from the operators rifles and the guards went down. Reaper team jogged past them, not missing a beat. Their cover blown, they simply continued on toward the door leading into the third-floor hall. Eric, as though reading the mind of his team leader, pulled a stun grenade from his vest and primed it. Brad took a very quick look, and four more were in the hall, ready to fight. Several rounds flew past where his head had been a moment before as he barely ducked out of the way. Brad nodded and Eric pitched the grenade at face level down the hall.

 _Whump!_ The second they heard the detonation, the three charged the hall. All four guards had been caught by it, their eyes and ears overloaded by the blast. The operators made quick work of their adversaries as they rapidly passed.

Down the hall, from the command room a head and rifle poked from the doorway. The rifle wasn't even halfway up when Brad fired a trio of rounds, impacting the poor trooper in the face. He slumped to the floor as they finished the approach.

"Captain?" the Major's voice tentatively called from inside. "You-" Brad was no dummy. He knew the Major was going to try and surrender. Unfortunately for the officer, one didn't receive orders that involved shooting a superior officer every day, and he planned to capitalize. Without further hesitation, Brad burst into the room. A very surprised looking Major Price, with a handgun in hand, was in the center of the command post. Brad seamlessly took aim and pulled the trigger twice, aimed at center of mass.

* * *

"You got stuck on a night patrol for that?" Jason asked. The team won, much to the embarrassment of the two platoons defending Hogwarts. To their credit, it was a massive learning experience and they were already implementing changes to their patrols and defensive strategies. Hermione's tactics had been highly effective against the unprepared troopers and they were determined not to let it happen again. Major Price had been less than enthusiastic at the outcome, especially the being shot part.

"It was less that he got shot," Eric pointed out, only to be immediately interrupted by Mike.

"And more that Cap shot 'im in both nipples!" Mike guffawed at his own comment, clearly still enjoying it the most out of anyone. "It was incredible." The others were laughing too at this point. They were in the Gryffindor common room, enjoying the fact that they had it to themselves for the duration of the holiday. In fact, there were only two Ravenclaws and a single Hufflepuff. That was it for the entire school.

"I didn't mean to shoot him in the nipples…" Brad said lamely. Truth be told he _hadn't_ intended to shoot the Major there, but he wasn't broken hearted over it either. What he was a little broken hearted about was replacing Lieutenant Jacobs on a night patrol along Hogs Highway tonight.

"Sure!" Mike said, then turned to Hermione. "By the way, I hear you're pretty largely responsible for the success of the diversion." Command had gone over every detail of the operation in a debriefing that took several hours, and the major point pulled away was that they still had very little experience fighting actual magic. Even in the United States, there were precious few instances of muggle on wizard combat and they simply didn't have much of an idea what to expect. They'd become very rapidly proficient at fighting dark creatures, but actual wielded magic was something of an unknown. Hermione's use of several diversionary and quite spectacular spells highlighted their inexperience.

"Thanks," she blushed, trying to make it look like it didn't mean as much to her as it really did. Truth be told, she was happy that she'd been instrumental in their win. Not just that, but her knowledge had actually turned the tide of the battle. The Lieutenant in charge of defense confirmed that he'd bought the large assault. Hook, line and sinker. He'd redeployed internal security to reinforce for the battle outside, not knowing it was a diversion. Without the spectacular display, another twelve soldiers would have been inside waiting for the rest of Reaper, including four in the indoor dock where Reaper made entry. It would have been an entirely different battle. He'd nevertheless made a rookie mistake leaving even one approach completely undefended. The Major's shouts could be heard through much of the third floor as he reprimanded the Lieutenant for his poor deployment. A thorough review showed the Lieutenant had not used standard protocols during his defense and had paid the price.

Ron was celebrating with the rest of them, but he definitely had a more sour edge about him. He'd received a solid shot to the forehead by one of the snipers posted in the Owlery. The center of Ron's forehead was still beet red, and he spent a fair bit of time rubbing the sore spot.

Harry had done an excellent job as well. He carried the extra ammo for the SAW, and after the first belt ran dry, Jason gave it to Harry to reload and operate. Jason had switched back to the M32, lobbing stun grenades and smoke at the defensive force. Harry had maintained excellent control of the weapon, firing small bursts and keeping lots of heads down. The weapon jammed near the end of his belt, and Harry switched to his wand, successfully hitting one of the defenders with an _Expelliarmus_ spell from a distance that impressed even Flitwick, who was standing by to repair whatever minor damage occurred during the exercise. It won Gryffindor ten points, which was icing on the cake.

In all, the task force now had an idea where they were insufficient and had gained valuable experience from the exercise. And OCDS had worked beautifully, deploying much needed firepower right where it was needed.

"Hey," Mike took a seat next to Hermione as everyone broke into their own conversations about the day. "You have plans for tomorrow?"

"No?" she seemed to ask. They'd finished the holiday's assignments already. Aside from the occasional training and today's big event, they had nothing significant planned.

"I thought maybe you'd like to go celebrate the win," he said, flashing her a nervous smile. "Maybe grab a bite to eat in Hogsmeade?"

"Erm, yeah that sounds great," she replied a little quicker than she meant to. Her face flushed and she looked down. Mike stood, much to her relief.

"Sounds like a plan," he said cheerfully. "I'd better go help the Captain. He's got a patrol to get to!" Mike called out a little louder, turning and wrapping an arm around Brad's shoulder, leading him to the portrait.

"I can't believe I have to patrol all night," Brad sighed.

"I can't believe you shot the Major in the nips," Mike chuckled again. He was not planning to let Brad live it down.

* * *

Thank you all for reading, again I apologize for how long this took. I'm well into chapter 16 already.

I'd like to challenge anyone who makes it this far to leave a comment with something they like and something they dislike about this story. It would help me to get an idea what people are thinking as they read, and like anyone I love getting the feedback.


	16. Not a Drill

AN - Again, I apologize for the delay getting this out. My word processor is officially out, meaning I have a bit more work to do to get each chapter out. The story is far from dead, so don't worry about that.

deathwing17, thank you for your review. I'm happy that you're enjoying and thank you for giving such a strange story a chance.

* * *

The sound of frozen gravel crunching under footsteps was something Hermione had always been fond of. As much as she'd enjoyed warm weather, there was a special place in her heart for the cold weather. It was just homey to her. She wasn't paying any particular attention to the gravel at this point, however.

She'd spent much of the morning getting ready for the day ahead, the trek to Hogsmeade at eleven. She dabbled a bit with makeup, her normally bushy hair was just a little more under control. It took her half an hour to pick an acceptable outfit, which wound up being her hiking boots, jeans, a shirt her father gave her last Christmas and a pink sweater.

Mike was walking next to her as they chatted away about anything and everything. He was dressed in his multi-cam uniform as per usual, but he wasn't wearing the vest or the majority of the gear normally on him. The only gear he wore was a belt with a radio and his handgun. It was his 'relaxation' look, as he called it.

"Did I mention you look great today?" Mike asked. He'd said it more than once, but it really rang true and he wanted to keep reinforcing the idea.

"Yes, you did." She couldn't help the smile across her face. They were getting closer to the village. Without the entire school around they were able to go wherever they preferred without fear of a huge crowd. Ron and Eric made plans to play wizard's chess at one of the shops in town, even leaving with Mike and Hermione. They quickly felt out of place and decided to forge on ahead.

"Just checking, cause-" Mike stopped short when Hermione tripped over a larger rock. She fell forward and Mike snatched her arm, keeping her from falling. "You alright?"

"Yeah…" she replied sheepishly. He didn't immediately let go, holding her closer. The warmth felt nice with him close by and without thinking about it she wrapped her arm in his. Her heart almost stopped, she hadn't intended to do it, but it was done. Mike, without missing a beat, smiled and continued on walking and holding her close by.

"Well, you feel free to trip anytime you like," he laughed.

"Look," Hermione called out. She wasn't really sure what to do or say, she was pretty far out of her element. She was used to being made fun of by boys, not held close. Not to say she didn't like this better, she just wasn't sure how to act. She left her arm wrapped in his, but diverted attention. "There in the tree."

"Huh…" Mike looked at it. It was a sac hanging from a tree branch, just off the beaten path. Mike peered closer. Black, small eggs. He knew this… "Doxy eggs, right?"

"RIGHT!" Hermione beamed at him. He'd been with them studying and working on homework, but she hadn't expected him to remember any of it. They continued on the path, chatting happily, arm in arm. Once they reached town, Hermione led him to the Three Broomsticks.

"Just the two of you, then?" Madam Rosmerta asked.

"Yeah," Hermione replied. The barkeep started to grab them small menus and Hermione halted her. "Just a couple butterbeers, please."

"Of course," the barkeep said, off to get them their drinks. Mike gave Hermione a questioning look, and she just smiled, leading him to a booth. They only sat for a moment before the drinks were delivered.

"Butterbeer?" Mike asked. He'd heard of it, of course, but never tried it. He hadn't had much beer in his time, even as a soldier who could put his life on the line the bars still had an age limit. Still, beer seemed a good start. Butter was goon in a lot of things, though he wasn't certain about mixing the two.

"Just give it a try," Hermione picked hers up and took a sip.

"Any final words?" Mike joked, picking up his mug. She rolled her eyes and he took a sip of the thick liquid. It was surprisingly sweet, and the warmth of the drink was pleasant. "Not bad, not bad at all." He took another swig.

"I told you," she replied, taking another drink of hers. They continued talking and taking sips of their drinks, each enjoying the other's company.

* * *

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," Harry flicked the map open for the thousandth time today. He could see everyone in the castle, everyone save the soldiers. He assumed that because they were non-magic that they didn't show up. He wasn't certain.

He was tired of sitting idly in the castle while everyone else went out. He now had the means to make his excursion possible. He'd daydreamed about making a trip to Hogsmeade more than once. He knew of several sights he wanted to see, places to go.

The question was, could he do it? He'd been wrestling with it since he'd received the map from the twins. The map, coupled with his father's cloak, made him think it'd be a cakewalk now. But should he? He was tossing the same two arguments back and forth in his mind for the last week.

On the one hand, he knew that a crazed serial killer was on the loose and hunting for him. His chances of being attacked were a lot higher if he wasn't at the castle.

On the other hand, he was tired of being left out. The map showed anyone nearby and the cloak kept him invisible. He would be perfectly safe. Plus, Hogsmeade was being patrolled heavily by the soldiers already. The chances of running into Sirius Black were slim to none, and he could always throw the cloak back on and run.

So it really wasn't that dangerous, right? Everyone was overreacting. There was no reason he should stay cooped up in the castle all day. Harry jumped up and opened his trunk, extracting the cloak given to him by his father. He balled up the cloak and closed the map, giving the guards a nod on his way out of the common room. He walked to a bathroom where he carefully pulled the cloak over himself and once he was satisfied he wouldn't be seen, he started the journey to freedom.

He'd decided to use a hidden passage that Fred and George pointed out. It led straight to the basement of Honeydukes, one of the prime spots on his list to visit. He carefully snuck past several of the roaming patrols before making it to the statue that he needed to get through. It took a moment of waiting until the hall was clear, and he tapped the back of the statue with his wand.

" _Dissendium,"_ he whispered. The back of the statue ground open louder than he was comfortable with, but a double check of the hall found it to be empty. He crept down into the passage and slowly worked his way through. It seemed to take forever, and it didn't help that his heart was hammering in his ears.

"There's no real risk," he whispered to himself for the umpteenth time. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he reached the end. There was a wooden trapdoor above him and with a heft he got it open. He crept up and closed it gently again. He could hear talking upstairs. He'd made it.

* * *

Brad laid in his bunk, eyes open, for only a moment longer. He'd been tired after the night patrol, and it didn't help that he wasn't able to get to bed until almost 1030. Now, at 1300, an hour past noon, and here he was…wide awake.

"Waste of time," he sighed to himself, sitting up. He'd just have to play catch-up when he went to bed tonight. He got his fatigues on and decided to go to the command center to see how things were going. He knew that half his squad planned a day in Hogsmeade. Jason said he planned on practicing with explosives at the range. A short walk brought him face to face with Major Price, who wore a very tight look on his face.

"Captain," the major said, eyeing the operator distastefully. Evidently he was still a little irritated about the shooting incident.

"Sir," Brad replied, attempting to keep a straight face. The last thing he wanted was to antagonize the major further. It was tough, however, as the major clearly had bandages to both shot sites on his chest, forming what looked like comically erect nipples underneath his uniform shirt.

"Goddamnit, Captain," Price sighed, catching Brad's glance down at his chest. "Get a good look….satisfied?"

"Ye…no, sir." Brad changed mid-sentence, not wanting the major thinking he had targeted them directly. "I apologize that you're in any discomfort, sir."

"Discomfort," the Major huffed. "Shoot a man where you did…" he muttered to himself, thumbing through the current taskbook. There was nothing on the agenda that required attention, much to his displeasure. "Nothing on the board. Carry on, Captain."

"Sir," Brad gave a sharp salute and turned on his heel, the smile that had been fighting to break out earlier caught up. He hoped the Major missed it as he left the room. He wasn't sure what to do at this point though. He figured he'd check the usual hangouts for Harry, see if he was up for another sparring session. It had been a little while.

Nothing in the common room, the Great Hall was completely empty, and Lupin hadn't seen Harry all day. He checked the library, even though the homework was done, and found nothing. Finally, he called out on the internal castle security channel on the radio, asking the patrols and sentries for information on who last had eyes on him.

The sentries at the common room checkpoint said they'd last seen him around noon. None of the exterior door checkpoints saw him leave, meaning he had to be in the castle. Where, though?

The paranoid side of Brad won out and he ordered the patrols to search for Harry. It took almost an hour and a half to find out he wasn't in the castle at all. They searched all of the likely spots that he might be, ultimately coming up empty-handed. Harry Potter was missing. Brad switched to the wide circuit, transmitting to every soldier on guard duty.

"Does anyone have eyes on Harry Potter?" he requested. One by one, units stated no.

* * *

"We'd better go back to the castle and figure this out," Mike said begrudgingly. "Lot of radio traffic about something."

After a fantastic time with Hermione, and at least three butterbeers, Mike was not excited about ending things anytime soon. Eric and Ron had finished their little tournament of wizard's chess. It was a tie after three long games, and neither had the will to continue. They'd left and found Mike and Hermione, joining in.

Eric and Mike had focused more on what they'd been doing, rather than the traffic on the radio. That said, it was obvious something was going on. For the last couple of minutes units had been checking in with "negative location." That meant that they were searching for something. Mike and Eric figured they'd get called in and it was better to be proactive.

What they couldn't see, just outside the door to the Three Broomsticks, was the source of their grief. Harry had no way of knowing they were looking for him, but appreciated their departure all the same. He didn't figure the soldiers would approve of him being out and about. It was better that they were leaving.

The two operators passed through the door and Harry snuck in before it shut. He peered around the bar. There was nothing of interest going on, it was almost empty. There were no soldiers present, but that was unsurprising. They had kept routes in and out of town under constant surveillance and you couldn't throw a rock without hitting a two-man patrol. The town was quite safe.

Harry made his way slowly to the booth in the corner where his two closest friends sat. He thought for a moment on how to reveal himself, eventually settling on thumping down while still invisible.

"Yie!" Hermione yelped as he flopped down, and Harry fought to stifle a laugh. Ron jumped as well, Madam Rosmerta and the only other patron in the Inn gave them a questioning glance before returning to their respective activities. His two friends recognized the laughter immediately and Hermione elbowed the invisible figure hard in the ribs.

"Ouch!" he called out quietly between his laughs.

"Are you _mad?_ " Hermione whispered incredulously.

"What?" Harry played his best attempt at innocent, though Hermione was obviously less than amused.

"I think it's bloody brilliant!" Ron said a little too loud. No one looked over, but he earned a harsh look from Hermione anyhow. She turned back to where Harry was seated.

"You shouldn't be here," she was obviously upset. "You could get in so much trouble…and what if Sirius found you here!?"

"Come on, Hermione…good to see you, mate." Ron said. "Well…you know." Harry smiled, though they couldn't see it. "How'd you even get here?"

Harry explained everything about the map Fred and George had given him. They'd called it the Marauder's Map, and it showed the location of every student and staff member, along with several secret passages.

"Why didn't they give it to me?!" Ron exclaimed, "I'm only their _brother!"_

"It doesn't matter, because Harry's going to turn it in, right?" She seemed to think she already knew the answer.

"Why on _earth_ would he do that?" Ron asked.

"If I turned it in they'll want to know where it came from. They'll know Fred and George nicked it." Harry wasn't interested in giving the map up.

"What about Sirius?" she whispered back harshly, as though they'd lost their minds. "What if he's using one of the secret passages?"

"There are seven total," Harry explained, hoping to ease her concern. "Four that Filch knows about, one with a collapsed tunnel, one that leads to the bottom of the Whomping Willow, and the last one…well unless you know there's a tunnel entrance under Honeydukes, you'll never find it."

"He'd have to know they're there, Hermione." Ron said. "And the owners of Honeydukes live right over the shop. They'd hear someone breaking in, right?"

"Well, perhaps, but-" Hermione started, only to be interrupted by Harry, who sensed the wavering in her resolve.

"Plus you can't throw a rock without hitting a soldier out there. And after Christmas it'll be the dementors again." Harry said. They were all hoping that the Ministry would find fault with the dementors and let the soldiers keep patrolling the town, but no one was truly convinced.

"Yes…but…" Hermione started, but Ron was ready with the finishing blows.

"Who's going to see him with the cloak on?" Ron asked. "It's Christmas, Hermione. Let him have a break."

"I…" she sputtered. She wasn't wholly convinced, that much was clear. But she didn't have a better argument either.

"Have you seen the Fizzing Whizbees?" Ron asked excitedly. They talked and caught up in their booth, Ron ordering several more Butterbeers from Madam Rosmerta. It was only a short time later that the door to the Three Broomsticks opened.

"Oh," Hermione exclaimed, surprised to see Hagrid, Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall, and the Minister of Magic himself. "What are _they_ doing here?"

"Dunno," Ron replied. "Not like they can see Harry under the cloak though."

"Right." Harry and Hermione replied simultaneously. Harry's heart was hammering. He knew logically that they couldn't see him, but that didn't stop his worry. Madam Rosmerta greeted the new customers, who sat close-by at the bar, ordering their favored drinks while idly talking amongst themselves.

"Why, what else but Sirius Black, m'dear?" the Minister replied to a question Harry hadn't heard. It piqued his interest, however. The three students listened closely.

* * *

"Boss, what's up?" Mike called. He and Eric had just made it back to castle grounds and came across Brad and Jason walking with a purpose. Brad stopped, meeting up with them. "Heard a bunch of traffic, what are we looking for?"

"Harry's-" Brad started but was almost immediately interrupted by Major Price who was half jogging down the steps.

"Captain, report!" he called out. The major had a stern look on his face. He'd never received information from anyone, just started hearing callout for a location on Harry.

"Sir," Brad racked his brain for just a moment longer. He'd checked everywhere he could think of. It was time to admit what he didn't want to. "Sir, Harry is missing. We have checked every likely spot on the grounds."

"Goddamnit," Price muttered. "Goddamnit! Where are his friends?"

"Hogsmeade, sir." Mike replied, feeling the same adrenaline rush. Had Black made it past them?

"Take a Humvee and get them, bring them back. Maybe they'll know something." Mike didn't wait for anything else the Major might have to say. He and Eric started for the nearest Humvee, and it wasn't long before they were racing down Hogs Highway, toward town.

"Captain, we need to get this fixed, fucking now." The Major turned to head back to the command center to direct search efforts. "Stay here, get info out of the friends."

"Copy," Brad said hollowly. It was hard to swallow, Harry going missing.

* * *

"Harry?" Hermione asked softly. They'd been stunned into silence once the conversation about Sirius Black had started. No one could say a word as they overheard the truth. Sirius Black, the godfather of Harry Potter. The man who betrayed them, who cost Harry his parents.

It had been a few minutes since staff left, the Minister headed back to the Ministry and the professors off to do some additional tasks around Hogsmeade. Even still, none of the trio spoke a word. Harry couldn't believe it. He wanted to _kill_ Sirius.

 _BOOM!_ The door bust open, startling everyone inside and knocking all three students out of their momentary stunned silence. Eric and Mike burst inside, receiving a dirty look from the barkeep and the few other patrons.

"Guys," Mike said, greeting the two visible students. "Harry is missing, tell me you know where he is." Mike was hoping against hope that there was still some mistake. There shouldn't have been a possible way that Sirius could get past them, yet here they were.

"I, uh…" Ron sputtered, trying hard not to look at the not-so-empty seat next to him.

"He might be in the third floor girl's room." Hermione said, looking down at the table. "No one goes there because of the ghost…it's a good place when you're feeling low."

"Right, we'll let Brad know and have him check it out." Mike said, holding a hand to Hermione to help her up. They extracted themselves from the booth and turned for the Humvee. Hermione's face flushed hard with conflicting emotion as she followed. When they approached the Humvee, she did her best to hide her wand movement as she muttered a spell. Before Mike could pick up the radio, it shut off.

"Seriously?" He hit the power button several times, then smacked the radio hard. Nothing roused it, it was completely dead. "Guess we're doing this the old fashioned way, let's go."

Harry had been listening when Hermione gave him his hint. If he wanted to get back without attracting a ton of attention for visiting Hogsmeade, he needed to get to that bathroom. He followed the group out of the Three Broomsticks, made his way to the tunnel and ran faster than he'd had to before. Thankfully, it was a direct route to the third floor, where the Hog's Highway wound around a little bit. Hopefully he would have enough time.

At the end of the tunnel, he ensured he was completely covered by the cloak, then worked his way quickly to the bathroom. He made it, panting. He worked hard to catch his breath as he folded the cloak and stuffed it under his robes. He heard bootsteps outside and did his best to look innocent as he sat down on an empty bench in the room.

"Harry?" Brad called out.

"Yeah?" Harry's voice almost cut out at the attempt to speak and he cleared his throat. One by one, Brad and the rest of his team entered the bathroom, a look of relief flooding their features.

"Fuckin' a," Mike said, letting out a breath. Harry's two best friends entered the bathroom next, a mirrored look of relief on their features as well.

"Principal found, repeat Principal found. Third floor women's room." Brad called on his radio.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked.

"We've been looking all over for you, man." Jason said, patting Harry on the back. Brad finished up a talk on the radio.

"Let's head outside, Major Price is on the way over," Brad called out, looking decidedly unexcited. They all walked outside.

"Why the girl's room, dude?" Mike asked. Harry shrugged his shoulders. There wasn't further chance to answer as a very charged looking Major Price rounded the corner.

"Attention!" he barked loudly, and the four soldiers snapped to a sharp attention. The three students nearly jumped out of their skin but managed to remain still. The major stalked up to the group, eyeing them all before landing on Harry. "You alright?"

"Ye…" Harry's voice cut out and he had to clear his throat again. "Yeah."

"Been here the whole morning, have you?" Major Price stared hard at the student, who just nodded his head.

"Good…good." The Major eyed him for a moment more, then looked over at the Captain who stood ridged. "So…are we just not checking the castle before we declare someone missing?"

"I didn't think to check the girl's room, sir." Brad replied crisply.

"You didn't think to check the castle before declaring someone fucking _missing?"_ The Major asked. "Before declaring _Harry goddamned Potter,_ missing?" His voice never raised an octave, nothing above a conversational tone. Somehow that made it more menacing.

"No, sir," was all Brad could reply.

"Special- _fucking_ operator…top-notch soldier, and you couldn't do this one FUCKING THING RIGHT!?" Price was getting red in the face as he bellowed at the Captain. "Do you have any idea the magnitude of fuck-up this is? I had to call Colonel Sumner and tell him that Harry Potter is missing. I had to tell the commanding officer of this task force that we couldn't perform our duties, because you jumped the damned gun and called him missing without searching the castle thoroughly!"

"I don't think that's quite fair," Harry tried to interrupt. His heart sank further with every word out of Price's mouth as Brad squarely took the blame for Harry's adventure. "I was in the girls' ro-," his attempt to defend the Captain was cut short as the Major turned.

"This is not your fucking business, shut the fuck up." Major Price's finger was less than an inch from Harry's nose. Price held that for a moment, then turned back to Brad. "Your sole purpose for being here is to protect and defend these three, especially him." He pointed back at Harry, staring straight into Brad's face. "If you can't keep tabs on him, then get the fuck out of here and let someone who can do the job step in."

"I'm fully capable-" Brad started, but was cut off by the Major.

"Fucking prove it. This had better _never_ happen again. Am I crystal clear?" The Major aimed the question at the four soldiers in front of him.

"Yes, sir!" they all called out. Price stared at them a moment longer.

"Fall the fuck out." He turned on his heels and left the group in a stunned silence. Brad turned to look at Harry once more. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He simply turned and walked away, his team following.

The trio stood at the entrance to the third floor girl's room for a long while, completely silent, processing a whirlwind of emotions. Residual fear from the worry of being found out, relief that they weren't, guilt over the rough way Major Price handled their friends on Reaper Team, along with guilt for misleading Reaper in the first place. Shock at the revelation about Sirius Black.

"That wasn't fun," Ron said. A true understatement if they'd ever heard one.

"We should tell them, Harry," Hermione said. Her eyes were a little teary, the guilt obviously eating her more than the others.

"Tell them what?" Ron asked. "We didn't get in trouble. I don't want the Major pissed at _me_ like that, do you?"

"Obviously not," Hermione said sharply. "But they just took the punishment for _you_ sneaking out, Harry. You don't think they should know what happened? They're thinking they did something wrong."

"I know…" Harry said numbly. This was all too much, too much for one day. He just wanted a day to vacation outside the castle. Instead he got this. "We'll talk to them tonight," his voice hollow. He was not looking forward to admitting it. He knew it was going to go poorly, but he ultimately agreed with Hermione. He couldn't leave them thinking they'd failed. It was his fault, not theirs.

* * *

"Erm, you guys have a minute?" Harry asked. The trio found the four operators in the common room. None of them were talking, they were mostly recovering from the serious ass chewing from earlier. They'd skipped dinner altogether as well.

"Yeah," Brad sighed. He'd tried to hide it, but he was putting up a front. If he'd had his way, he would have been left alone at the moment. Regardless, the trio stepped the rest of the way into the room.

"It was my fault, earlier," Harry started.

"No, we should have kept a better eye on you. Just never thought to look in the girl's room," Brad replied as though it was final.

"I wasn't in the girl's room…" Harry let the statement hang for a moment. The soldiers said nothing, so Harry continued by pulling his father's cloak out. "This is an invisibility cloak…my father's…I used it to sneak to Hogsmeade today. I didn't think anyone would miss me…" Harry explained everything, only omitting the map and what they'd overheard. He didn't want to risk losing the map and getting the twins in trouble, and he was still processing what he'd learned about Sirius.

"I ran to the girl's room when I found out you guys knew I was missing." Harry finished his explanation. No one said a word. "I didn't think anyone would find out."

"Jesus, Harry…" Brad trailed off. "Seriously?" Harry braced himself for a tirade similar to that of Major Price's. It didn't come, at least not in volume. "You could have been killed. So much could have gone wrong, man. We are all here to _protect_ you. We can't do that if you go running off like that…"

"I just wanted to see it," Harry said lamely.

"Just wanted to see it?" Brad repeated it, as though trying it on for size. By the look on his face, he didn't like it. "You heard the Major, you already know how many resources were spent looking for you. And you know how bad the Ministry wants us out, in favor of dementors I'll add. Shit like that, that's gonna get us replaced real fast."

"I'm sorry." The last thing Harry was interested in was the school being full of dementors.

"Don't be sorry, just don't fucking do it again." Brad stood up. "If I need to keep eyes on you 24/7 I'll do it."

"You won't, I'm done sneaking," Harry replied.

"Good…good." Brad looked around at everyone. "Been a long day, let's get some sleep." Everyone broke off, but Mike hung around, catching Hermione's eye.

"So…" Mike said, trailing off. He wasn't sure how to approach it. "Did you know?" She stared back at him, but he could read the guilt in her eyes even before they watered. He didn't want to believe it, so he waited for her.

"Not until you left…after all the talk on the radio," came her meek reply.

"You didn't think to say anything?" he asked, but didn't wait for a response. "You're too smart to tell me you didn't know how dangerous it was from him to be away like that. Was that you, the radio?"

"I…er…yeah."

"What if we needed help? Heaven forbid, we spotted Sirius. I thought you were a lot smarter than that." Mike sighed, rubbing his scalp. He hadn't wanted to believe it. He'd trusted her, thought that she, out of anyone, would get how serious they needed to take this threat. "I don't know what else to say…" Mike walked upstairs to the boy's dorm, opting for a bed there and leaving a silent Hermione behind.

* * *

AN - Thanks for reading. Again, please feel free to leave a review.


	17. Disharmony

AN – Sorry for the delay getting this out. My Word program subscription ended, really gumming up the works. I just found LibreOffice and I am back at it finally. I updated chapters 1-5 to try and flesh things out a bit better, feel free to reread or continue as you prefer. On a positive note, we have made it to 10k views! I am blown away by the continued reads and appreciate all of you reading this story. Comments and constructive criticisms welcome, enjoy!

* * *

Mike was sitting in the corner chair of the common room waiting for Hermione. It was a lot later than he'd expected, than anyone expected really. He was starting to worry about her. Once Harry and Ron had come down, they and the rest of the operators waited awkwardly for her. They stood around more or less silent. As time ticked on slowly it became clear that she wasn't coming down. The rest of Reaper left with Harry and Ron to go get breakfast, Mike staying behind to escort Hermione.

The soldiers woke before anyone else had and came down to the common room. They went over the happenings of the day before. It'd been a long night but they weren't new to emotional distress. After a trying day, they knew better than to work things over when they were overcome with emotion. Each of them worked toward sleep and when they woke in the morning, felt a little better.

The discussion wasn't long. None of them had seen the move by Harry coming, and while they weren't expecting a repeat, they'd decided not to give him much chance. At least not for a little while. They'd stick close, give him an idea what life might be like without built trust between them.

 _What could she have been thinking?_ It had been looping through his mind since last night. Even now, he had trouble coming to a conclusion. She was smart…smarter than anyone he'd known. More than one staff member had described her as the brightest witch of her age and he hadn't seen a thing to make him doubt it.

In fact, the only thing she hadn't picked up like it was natural was shooting firearms. He couldn't fault her for that, they weren't for everyone. That's not to say she hadn't gained any proficiency, with hard work she was getting there. Everything else seemed to come naturally to her, though.

Plus, she was a paragon in the truest sense of the word, and never was it more apparent than when she had something to say about rules. If there was a rule, she knew it and would insist it be followed no matter the damage to her popularity. It showed, too. She wasn't among the most popular in the school. She also didn't get into trouble though either.

It'd blindsided him when they came clean. If anyone else in the planet had come up to him and told him that Hermione had broken rules…no, not just broken rules. Broken his trust…put lives in danger. There was no chance he'd believe them and they'd receive a solid hit to the jaw, incentive to refrain from lying again. It came from her mouth though. _She_ lied to him about where Harry was, _she_ corrupted his radio and prevented him from reporting his suspected whereabouts. Over and over it cycled through his mind.

He sat back in the chair, resting his head against it and closing his eyes, trying to clear his mind. _What in the hell was she thinking?_

* * *

Hermione woke up much later than normal. It was almost nine in the morning. She only gave it passing thought however, her mind still running through the events of the previous night while she laid in bed.

She stewed the entire evening until it came time to for Harry to talk to the soldiers. She definitely wasn't proud of her part in how things played out. She'd sabotaged the radio and covered for Harry. He was one of her closest friends, one of the few early on who never made fun of her. It bought him a degree of loyalty.

He did have a predisposition toward danger and trouble however, and it put her in positions she never thought she'd have to take. Rules were rules for a reason. Clearly the school deferred to the judgment of parents on whether or not their child was responsible enough for a trip to Hogsmeade. That wasn't the issue here, though it was a convenient pretext. Harry's life was in danger and traveling to Hogsmeade was an unnecessary risk.

She was caught between her logical knowledge that he should absolutely _not_ be in Hogsmeade for any reason, and the fact that he was. She could have turned him in, but what would that have done to her friendship? She valued it a lot, in fact her parents had teased her quite a bit over her summers about her finding close friends in the boys. She'd gone solo in most of her muggle life, with the only real exception being Sarah, a close friend in her early years that changed rapidly once learning became uncool.

So, she'd made the risky decision. She'd opted to cover for Harry. She convinced herself that the worst wouldn't happen. Then it fell apart. He'd been discovered missing rapidly, and everything happened so fast. She had made her decision to cover for Harry, and she stuck to it. Suddenly she found herself having to lie to Mike. Then sabotage the radio to keep the secret longer, to give Harry enough time to get back to the castle undiscovered.

It'd worked, but she had been naive to think it would be without consequence, and foolish to think the consequence would be theirs to bear. Listening to the Major as he brutally dealt with the operators was more than she was willing allow. It had not been difficult to convince the boys it was right to come clean to them, at least not Harry. She knew that for all the difficulty she'd had, Harry must have felt even worse. After all, it was _his_ decision that lead to it all.

That wasn't what replayed through her mind the most however, wasn't what kept her up most of the night soaking her pillow in silent tears. It was the look on Mike's face as Harry came clean. She saw the disbelief in his face, the soldier wore his heart on his sleeve and everything he felt, she saw. She'd lied to him, betrayed his confidence and he didn't seem to believe it when they came clean.

She'd mentally prepared for whatever he might say, words about her disloyalty or things of that sort. That wasn't what he said, however. He gave her out after out, his obvious suspicions were staring him in the face. His trust in her was so complete however, that he needed direct confirmation for each of her betrayals in order to believe it. That was what cut her to ribbons.

She'd barely made it into the girl's dorm before hot tears spilled down her cheeks, the lump in her throat almost unbearable. The last thing she wanted was everyone watching her cry. She caught enough flack for being the smartest in her year, and people watching her cry, even friends, was ammunition to try and knock her down a peg. One of her lessons from Sarah, actually.

So she laid in bed a moment longer, late in the morning. Late for her, anyhow. Her body felt heavy and her eyes were sore. With a sigh she rolled and got up, walking to the mirror nearest her bed. Her haggard appearance would have brought further tears to her eyes, if she'd had any to give.

Her hair was knotted in tangles. Her eyes were still puffy and bloodshot, bags under them from a night of restless sleep. She set about correcting what she could. She'd never been big on her personal appearance and was far from trying to make herself beautiful. She just didn't want to look like she'd spent that night sobbing. When her work was done, she dressed in her robes and headed down.

She'd made it part of the way down the stairs when she saw Mike sitting there. He stood up and smiled at her, but it wasn't the same warm smile she'd grown used to. It was strained, more distant. Another nail in the coffin of their closeness, something she wasn't sure she'd get back.

"Hermione," he greeted her stiffly. There was a small edge of concern to his face. She knew at once she'd been unsuccessful. Her eyes were still a little achy and she knew right away that he'd seen through her attempts to cover up the night's activity. "Everyone's down eating already." As though she needed a reminder that she'd slept in.

"Right, let's go," she replied, steeling herself and passing him. He caught up to her quickly and fell into a pace on her right and slightly behind her. Close enough to definitely be there with her, but slow enough to make conversation awkward. _I guess it's like that_.

* * *

The next several days were not among Harry's favorite. He'd taken a little time to process the information he learned at the Three Broomsticks. Black betraying and killing his parents... _how could he?_ It infuriated Harry...made him want to kill Black, inflict pain on him. It scared him, to the point he was actively trying to block it from his mind.

On top of this, Reaper team had been sticking to them, unbelievably close. The operators were never far, only now they felt more like guards and less like companions. It made it impossible for him to talk about it with Ron and Hermione. It only lasted like this for a few days, but it was a long few days and the contrast was stark.

Every time Harry got up to try and go somewhere one of the a pair of operators hopped up and went with, one in front and one behind. They made a show of clearing hallways before continuing on, checking rooms before he entered them. It was embarrassing and each time ground his nerves a little bit more. It didn't leave him angry, not really. But it gave him an appreciation for the freedom of movement he had before.

Ron and Hermione each had one of the operators assigned to them, following them everywhere as well. None of them liked it, although after seeing what Harry was going through, neither of them complained to Harry.

Additionally, Harry had noticed that Mike was always on his detail and only sometimes on Ron's. Not once did he escort Hermione, and the distance wasn't good on either of them. All of the operators were polite and even friendly, but Mike was less prone to humor than he normally was. When they were all in the room together, he inevitably, perhaps unconsciously, migrated toward her. He was never alone with her, however.

The changes in Hermione were even more apparent to him. When Mike was near she fidgeted with things and tried to look natural. A couple times, when he was particularly close he saw her rereading the same paragraph over and over, something he had _never_ seen her do before.

He tried to talk to her about it once, during a moment they had alone in the library. He knew Mike and Hermione stayed behind that night and talked, and he knew that they'd been more distant since then. Her face went tight when he mentioned it and she turned back to her book as though she hadn't heard him. He decided to leave well enough alone.

The night before Christmas Eve, Brad stopped them before they headed to bed. The trio and all four operators stayed in the common room, Brad indicating that the trio should take seats. The operators followed suit and Brad was the only one who chose to stand.

"Thanks for joining us, guys," Brad said. "Look, we don't want to play bodyguard any more than you want us to. Is that accurate?" He looked at each of them in turn.

"Yeah, it's true." Harry was already conspicuous, it was a godsend that the school was practically empty. If he had to go to class like this every day his life would be hell.

"Good," Brad said. "We are ending it tonight, getting back to a more normal routine. If you trust us, and we can trust you, things can be a lot easier. If not...well, it's in _your_ hands whether or not this needs to become a permanent thing. Everyone clear?" Here was the olive branch, offered by the operators. The trio readily accepted.

"About bloody time," Ron said. "Haven't had a decent game of chess in a while." He flashed a hesitant grin at Eric, who returned it.

"Great, let's get some sleep." Brad dismissed them, but Hermione spoke up.

"I was thinking, we haven't seen Hagrid in a while." She didn't glance at anyone, keeping her eyes on Brad. "I wanted to visit him tomorrow."

"That's a good idea," Jason said, "I could go for a little fresh air." Hagrid's hut, bring outside the castle, would mean a nice walk in the snow. It was something they hadn't done since the visit to Hogsmeade.

"Let's do it," Brad replied. They exchanged "good nights" and went to sleep, a bit more hopeful for tomorrow.

* * *

The next morning Hermione woke up a little bit early, thought she wasn't willing to head down yet. She knew the operators would be down in the common room, and awake or not she didn't feel up to dealing with them on her own.

That wasn't strictly true, she had to remind herself. She didn't feel up to dealing with _him._ Every time she looked into his eyes, she saw her own betrayal swimming around. He tried to hide it but was never really successful.

Even worse was when she noticed, as the days passed, that aside from that first morning he had avoided being her guard. She didn't know if it was a conscious choice of his or not, but it stung nonetheless. She'd found herself near him a number of times, when everyone was in the same room. They didn't really talk much though.

Late at night, when she was being honest with herself, she missed it. Missed laughing all the time, passionate conversations about whatever coursework was going on, in depth answering of whatever questions came to his mind about the wizarding world. Even in the couple years she'd spent finally having best friends in Harry and Ron, she'd never had someone to open up that much with. Someone who accepted her bookish nature in stride and even enjoyed it.

In the mornings however, she felt harder. She felt irritated that she was even in this position in the first place. What was she supposed to do? She was in an impossible position, betray a friend or betray a friend? Some choice. She felt the creeping thought of right and wrong but pushed it away. She was tired of moping and feeling irritated was something different.

She got up and got dressed. It wasn't a conscious effort on her part, not really, but she found she felt rather cute when she was finished. They were going to Hagrid's today and that meant going out in the snow. She'd put on the jeans she wore to Hogsmeade earlier that week, and had a light blue coat on to keep her warm. She put on a knit cap that covered her generally unruly hair and when she was finished she felt pretty good. Nothing was going to stop that if she could help it.

She went back to her bed, retrieving her wand and giving Crookshanks a little affection before heading downstairs. To her relief, she saw that everyone was up. No waiting around this morning. Eric and Ron were battling it out on Ron's Wizards Chess set. Mike was standing, looking intently out of a window, while Harry, Jason and Brad were chatting about something near the fireplace.

She met Mike's gaze for a brief moment as she headed down. Her heart lept a bit as the corner of his mouth twitched a little, like it was trying to form a smile. It never finished however and he turned back to the window for a moment more. That was fine, she was fine without him. She certainly didn't need his smile or praise to have a good day.

He turned towards her again as she reached the end of the stairs, but she ignored him and walked past. She stopped between Harry and Jason, joining that conversation. They talked a minute before everyone decided it was time to head down for breakfast. It was only then that she glanced at Mike, and he was following everyone out alone. _Suit yourself_.

* * *

Mike followed the group down to the Great Hall, a pang of jealousy in his heart as Jason and Hermione chatted the entire way. He forced the feeling away, not wanting any part of it. It had been a difficult time over the last several days, wrestling with his emotions.

He couldn't help the attraction every time he saw her. It just happened. He also couldn't push it out of his mind, the fact that she'd manipulated his trust. Not that she'd set out to, he didn't believe it for a second. But, it'd happened nonetheless, and he was dealing with the aftermath. He'd placed his trust in her, and she'd betrayed it. It sucked.

He'd walked her to breakfast the following morning and that had been difficult. He had a hard time keeping the professional detachment he was supposed to have on a bodyguard detail. It was hard to concentrate and after that he'd told Brad he needed to stay on either Harry's or Ron's detail. Brad, for his part, didn't make it any harder. No jabs, no making fun. Just kept Mike on one of the other details.

More than once, he'd found them all together, however. That was even more difficult in its own ways. No matter what he tried, he found himself migrating toward her. Never anything overt, just stayed on the same side of the room as her. Sat at the same table. It was a tough habit to break.

"I was thinking after breakfast is done?" Hermione asked. Mike hadn't been paying much attention, but hearing her voice snapped him out of it.

"Yeah, sound's good," Brad said. "I'm sure Hagrid will be glad to have some company."

"We haven't seen him in ages," Ron added through a mouthful of potatoes. Hermione rolled her eyes at his manners, something that made Mike smile inwardly. The conversation continued on until the food was nearly depleted and they'd all slowed down. Mike watched as it all disappeared before them, leaving clean plates and silverware. Magic sure was something else.

They got ready, putting on jackets and caps for the trip ahead, then made way to Hagrid's hut. It wasn't a long walk and it really was gorgeous outside. The snow was almost completely undisturbed. Finally they reached the hut and Brad clenched a fist, pounding on the door a few times. There was no answer, so they tried again.

"Wha'dya wan'?" came the gruff response through the door just before it opened. Hagrid's hulking form filled much of the doorway and he was disheveled. "O', it's you lot." Hagrid didn't invite them in, not really. He turned and went back inside, leaving the door open.

"Hagrid, are you okay?" Hermione asked. She wasn't the only one who noticed the appearance of the Gamekeeper. Hagrid's eyes were puffy, his nose red and chapped. He looked like he hadn't taken very good care of himself.

"I'm alrigh' 'ermione," Hagrid huffed as he sat himself down at the table. The trio took the additional seats at the table while the operators grabbed various spots around the hut to stand watch while still being part of the conversation.

"Hagrid, buddy," Brad chimed in. "What's going on?"

"They're tak'n Buckbeak ter trial," Hagrid said suddnely, the depressed note finally open and apparent, all attempts to hide it abandoned. "Sayin' 'e's a monster."

"You're shitting me," Mike said, astonished as the rest of them. They'd all told Dumbledore separately and the operators had filled a report stating that Draco had brought it on himself by deliberately provoking the Hippogriff. "Who called for a trial?"

" _Lucius Malfoy,"_ Hagrid spat out, the disgust apparent and out of place in his voice. Anger didn't really suit Hagrid, Mike decided. "Said tha' Buckbeak was a danger ta society. Hearin' is in April."

"That's bullshit," Mike said, shaking his head. The rest of them nodded in agreement.

"We will fight it," Hermione put a comforting hand on Hagrid's shoulder. Mike noticed it was hilariously small, but the sweet gesture helped and Hagrid looked a little more hopeful. "There have to be some helpful cases in the library we can reference."

"Definitely," Brad agreed immediately. "No way we are taking this without a fight."

"Thanks," Hagrid huffed, getting a little emotional by the instant and vigorous show of support.

They stayed for a while longer, talking and cheering up one of their favorite professors. The group left around lunch time, eating and outlining their tasks for the day. As soon as they finished eating they divided into groups set up by Hermione and they spent the rest of their Christmas Eve researching ways to help Buckbeak.


	18. Restoration

AN – I know it's a short chapter, but here you all go. Enjoy and leave a review to tell me what you think of the story so far.

* * *

Harry woke up the next morning feeling a little better. He couldn't help was Christmas. This hadn't meant much to him before Hogwarts, but the last couple years had been some of the best. He actually got presents now and had friends to enjoy the holiday with.

His troubles were forgotten for the moment in the excitement. Ron was still asleep but not for long. Harry hurled his pillow across the room, striking Ron in the face. Only a moment of irritation lasted as Ron woke and realized it was Christmas.

"What, couldn't wait till I was up?" Ron asked, sitting up with a grin plastered across his face.

"If you had your way, you'd sleep till noon," Harry jabbed back. They hesitated only a moment more before the excitement overwhelmed them and they jumped out of bed, running down the stairs. They were surprised to find everyone else was already up.

The tree, which was next to the fireplace, had several presents under it. Hermione sat on a chair next to the tree with her feet tucked under herself. Mike was sitting directly across from her in another chair, while the rest of the operators were piled on a couch.

Harry and Ron immediately slowed on seeing the crowd, who were decidedly less enthusiastic. Not that there wasn't cheer, they were chatting quite happily amongst themselves. But there wasn't such a childish rush to get to the presents. The duo trotted the rest of the way downstairs coolly.

"Morning," Brad greeted them as they hit the bottom of the stairs. The conversations idled as they joined the group. "Get enough sleep?" He smiled, letting them know it was a tease. Mike stood and met Harry, clapping him on the shoulder.

"It takes _work_ to look this good!" Mike exclaimed in his defense. The group laughed and got to their seats. It didn't take long before the presents were passed out. There wasn't anything under the tree for the operators, but they insisted that it was what they preferred.

"Would be weird getting gifts," Jason had said.

They took turns opening presents. Customary sweaters from Ron's mom were, of course, passed out and worn. There were treats and candies, and Hermione got a new book on magical creatures from her parents, though where they'd shopped for it was a mystery to her. Ron received a new Wizard's Chess set from his brother, Charlie.

Harry, it seemed, didn't get more than the candies, pastries and sweater. Harry didn't notice, and didn't care. He enjoyed spending the time with his friends and any present was a big deal to him. He, in fact, reveled in the sweaters from Mrs. Weasley more than anyone else did. It was a handmade gift and proof that she cared about him.

It was a surprise when a pair of owls came in, straining under the load of what was obviously a broomstick. It was wrapped, of course, in a thick brown paper. The shape was unmistakable, however. They dropped their delivery and took off immediately toward the Owlery to rest. Harry didn't contain himself, tearing into the paper. He'd missed his broom and the idea of having another was very appealing.

"Who sent it?" Hermione asked, an edge of concern to her voice. Harry hadn't thought to look. He turned it over, looking for a tag of some sort. It was barren. He simply shrugged his shoulders and finished opening it, revealing a Firebolt.

"A Firebolt!?" Ron exclaimed, obviously just as excited as he was. It was lost on the soldiers, who understood they were excited, but not why. Ron picked up on it and continued. "It's only one of the most advanced brooms ever made!"

"Great," Brad said. "So, who sent it?" There was an air of suspicion to his voice that simultaneously relieved Hermione and irritated Ron and Harry.

"I dunno," Harry admitted.

"It was probably McGonagall! She just couldn't come out and say it...favoritism and all," the redhead said.

"I don't know about that," Brad replied. Ron's theory didn't feel right. She was a smart, blunt teacher. Favoritism didn't seem likely from her, and subtly was not among her strong suits. He felt reasonably certain it wasn't from her. "Doesn't seem like her style."

"What if it's from Sirius?" Hermione asked.

"Come on, Hermione." Ron sounded exasperated. "That's a bit of a stretch."

"He just broke out of jail," Harry added. "Where is he getting the money for a _Firebolt?_

"And why would he buy Harry an expensive broom?" Ron seemed to have trouble believing it enough to even ask the question.

"Criminals can be resourceful. It's no secret that Harry is good on a broom, could be the perfect sabotage." Jason said.

"Agreed," Brad said, his mind made up. They needed to be careful. An unmarked gift was an automatic red flag. It could absolutely be harmless, but there wasn't any sense in taking the chance.

"You're not serious," Ron said. Harry was quiet, but his face mirrored Ron's attitude.

"I'm dead serious," Brad stood up and beckoned Eric and Jason to do the same. "We can't bet Harry's life on this being harmless. We turn it in to McGonagall and let her make sure it's safe."

"Right," Harry said, reluctantly handing the broom over to Eric. Brad and Eric left to seek McGonagall, Jason off to alert the Major about the suspicious package, and Ron fixed Hermione with a withering glare. He didn't say anything aloud, but his face communicated everything. _You meddled and it's your fault this is happening._

Hermione looked away quickly, toward the tree and retucked her feet beneath her. Ron finally looked back toward Harry. "Sorry, mate."

"S'alright," he replied. He would be lying if he said he was excited to lose the broom so fast. He hated using the standard broomstick that the school issued. After the freedom and responsiveness his Nimbus provided it was hard to downgrade. To have such a good broom in his hands and have it taken away before he could use it…

"Well, we could-" Ron was cut off by a terrible squeal and the sound of tearing fabric. It took everyone by surprise. They looked at the source of the commotion to see Scabbers madly scurrying away from Crookshanks. "Scabbers!" he shouted, leaping to his feet to join the chaotic melee.

"Crookshanks, no!" Hermione cried out, chasing after her cat. It was a mad dash as Scabbers climbed up a curtain and jumped to an end table. Crookshanks was hot on his tail until Hermione snatched the cat up. Barely a second later, Ron had Scabbers in his hand and was staring Hermione down.

"YOU GET HIM OUT OF HERE!" he shouted in her face, pointing at the cat with every syllable. She was beet red, flushed with adrenaline, but didn't back down.

"It's not his fault," she defended Crookshanks, petting his fur in an attempt to calm him from all of the yelling. "Cats chase rats."

"Nothing's ever your fault, is that it?" Ron looked ready to burst. "Your bloody cat is terrorizing Scabbers and you do nothing...you get Harry's broom taken away, are you trying to make everyone's lives miserable?" Hermione, who's mouth was open to defend herself snapped it shut at his last remark. "You think you know it all and you force everyone to do what _you_ think is right."

Hermione glanced at Harry, hoping for some support. Harry said nothing. He didn't share the deep red anger of Ron's face, but he didn't leap to her defense either. She looked back to Ron.

"You're not right. It's no wonder you lose all of your friends." Ron turned his back on her with this parting blow, intently looking over Scabbers.

* * *

Hermione, holding a stoic look on her face, darted from the common room. It wasn't that, as much as the single, almost subconscious glance toward Mike as she left, that had him frozen in place. It was her eyes, he was certain he'd seen tears working into them. Ron's words had been harsh, much more than necessary. Worse yet, Harry hadn't defended her. He hadn't taken Ron's side, nothing so overt. But he hadn't defended her either.

And neither had Mike. He sat in a stunned silence watching it unfold, not really convinced that it was actually happening. He couldn't think of another time in his life that he'd been a silent observer in such a heated argument. Things got mean, and he immediately regretted not reacting.

"The fuck is wrong with you two?" Mike asked harshly as he stood from his seat, the sound of his own voice surprising him. He hadn't intended to say anything, but it flowed from him nonetheless and he rolled with it. Ron turned toward him, still clearly blinded by his righteous rage.

"With me?" he asked incredulously. "I'm not the one overreacting to gifts and siccing killers on other peoples pets!" Ron shouted at him, his face red. Damned if Mike was going to let this little prick yell at him freely though.

"She's looking out for your friends safety, you deluded piece of shit!" Mike said, closing the distance between them rapidly until he was uncomfortably close to Ron's face. "The fact is we _don't_ know who sent that broom, we _don't_ know their intentions and _YOU_ are betting your friend's life on it being someone benevolent. Look me in the eye and _guarantee_ that the broom is safe." Mike waited for a moment, staring directly into Ron's eyes confrontationally. Ron opened his mouth for a moment, but said nothing and ultimately closed it. Mike turned to Harry, who looked a little uncomfortable now that logic was taking the place of emotion.

"She still needs to get control of Crookshanks..." Ron muttered, trailing off toward the end when he realized the look on Mike's face was somehow getting less friendly that it had already been.

"Maybe you need to keep your prey somewhere that a predator can't get to it," Mike said, the look in his eye inviting Ron to say more, to keep going on the track he was on. It was clearly not all of what Mike wanted to say, and this time Ron was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Mike turned and left, exiting the common room and leaving the duo alone inside.

"Everything alright, Sergeant?" one of the sentries outside the common room asked. Mike stopped to reply.

"It'll probably be," Mike said. "If Harry leaves, one of you two go with until another unit can link up and watch him."

"Copy that." The sentry nodded in affirmation.

"Which way did she go?" Mike asked, wanting to narrow his search. The tears he was surely seeing form in her eyes gnawed at him. He'd stayed pissed at her far too long and he really couldn't stand the thought of leaving her alone to face that. At least before, when he was upset, she still had Harry and Ron. Right now she thought she had no one.

"Went downstairs at a pretty good clip," the other sentry replied.

"Thanks, guys." Mike jogged downstairs easily. He felt sure she was going to a place that held some degree of comfort to her, and he could only think of one place that fit the bill. So, he went to the library. It wasn't small and it took him a second of standing still and listening before he heard a sniffle to his left. He walked quietly toward the sound until he found her, seated at a table with her head in her arms and her back heaving with silent sobs.

"Hey," he said softly. The sobs stopped at once and she went ridged. For a moment he felt a strike of fear in his chest. Perhaps he shouldn't have bothered her, perhaps she didn't want to be seen like this. She didn't move a muscle as he took a few steps closer, until he was right behind her. "They were way out of line, I'm sorry I didn't..." he trailed off. _Sorry I didn't what? That I didn't intervene, that I didn't come talk to you sooner, that I acted like a butt-hurt brat instead of forgiving you? All of the above?_

She wiped her eyes with her sleeves and stood up, turning to face him. They stood close to each other, and as he stared into big, brown eyes, it was like he could see everything in her soul. He could see the pain that ate at her as she struggled between what her friends wanted and what was right. The seed of doubt swimming circles in her mind, the thought that maybe she _was_ sabotaging everyone she cared about. He could almost see her soul screaming, " _I tried, I tried to be good and right and can't you just see that!?"_

And as he looked into her eyes, he saw hers darting around, searching within his. For understanding, for longing, for compassion...he wasn't sure. Perhaps all of them. Her emotions had not been forgotten, and as tears welling in her eyes became too much to hold, as they threatened to leap down her cheeks, he suddenly found his lips on hers. It wasn't a conscious choice on his part. He felt the hot moisture as her cheeks brushed his, he felt a cool spot where her nose had touched him. He couldn't tell if the cold stemmed from her nose or eyes, and he couldn't have cared less.

Her lips were soft against his, warm and inviting. He had no recollection of moving closer to her, but there she was. Pressed against him, his fingers sliding beneath her ear and to the back of her head, as if to keep her from ever disappearing.

He didn't know how long the kiss went on. He was blissfully unaware of time, and though it could have been seconds, it could just have easily been hours and he secretly hoped it had. He felt a pang of disappointment when they broke apart, the bodily requirement for oxygen making its demands too forcefully to ignore.

"I...uh," Mike stammered, praying that he hadn't stepped across some boundary that would tear her from him forever. Praying that she felt the same as he had. When she opened her eyes, the pain was gone from them. She too looked a little fearful about how he might respond, so he doubled down and took the initiative. "I hope we can do that again sometime." He closed his eyes, immediately regretting the words. _What the fuck, Mike? Seriously, that's the best you could do?_

"Me too." The words freed the weight from his heart. He looked at her again and saw the faint hint of a smile. For a moment, the troubles and drama had left their minds and there was nothing but the happy, intoxicating excitement that only a newfound relationship could bring.

* * *

AN - TheLoneHero17 brought up a good point, I don't believe I've mentioned that this is a bit of a slow burn story. The meat of the story that I want to tell begins in year 4 and that is where Fleur is introduced. To set the characters and situations up in a way that is understandable, I needed year 3 as well. Fleur/OC is absolutely going to happen, we just have some story left between here and there. Hermione/OC wasn't intended when I first started the story but that's the evolution of the story and personally I like it. Thanks again for reviewing and reading.


	19. Back at School

AN - I am blown away by the reads and alerts on the story so far. I know I've said it before, but thank you all for giving this story a chance. Thank all of you who have reviewed, it definitely motivates an author and helps me learn as I go. Enjoy and please feel free to leave a review.

* * *

A couple days after Christmas, school was back in session. It had been a large event when the students showed back up on the train. The Ministry had remained firm in their assertion that the Task Force would only provide security during the Christmas Holiday. Attempts by Colonel Sumner, Headmaster Dumbledore, and even General Thomas had fallen on deaf ears. Minister Fudge insisted that Ministry controlled dementors would provide security in the town.

When the students arrived in Hogsmeade there were transport vehicles already lined up. Humvee's were in place around them to escort the convoy as it departed for the school. As soon as the students were safely outside town limits and all students were accounted for, the swarm of dementors approached from the train tracks.

As negotiated, the elements from TFA fell back in a controlled manner. There was very little lapse in security, the troops ordered not to risk close personal contact with dementors. It was much to the consternation of the residents of Hogsmeade, as the dementors insisted on a full sweep of the town before beginning their regular patrols. Not one person in town was happy to see the muggle soldiers leave.

Back at the school, classes started strong. Harry and Ron were often working together on homework, leaving Hermione out of their studies. It was a childish attempt at lashing out for her part in getting the Firebolt taken away, which McGonagall readily agreed to.

Their ostracizing of Hermione was largely ineffective, and, as Mike enjoyed pointing out, to the detriment of their studies in most cases. It took them almost twice as long in some cases to do the same assignment as she did, and they _never_ got the better grade. Still, they did their best to ignore her.

This proved difficult, as none of them were removed from the protection of the operators and none of them were willing to move away from the soldier's table during mealtimes. Ron soon found that the operators would quickly put a stop to any overt rudeness, and Ron and Hermione took to simply not talking to each other.

Harry was less obvious about his frustration with Hermione, though if anyone asked he would answer honestly that he was upset with her for getting his broom taken away. No one did ask, however. Harry generally opted for solitude once the term started and the others gave it to him, even if it wasn't a conscious choice.

There was a lot on Harry's mind, not the least of which was the stress caused by Sirius Black. It was enough that Sirius had escaped from an inescapable prison that there had to be a cadre of soldiers around him at any given time to keep him safe. That was enough stress, or so Harry felt. Life, however, had other plans and it didn't take Harry's personal views on fairness into account.

Since he'd learned about the monstrous betrayal it became a daily fight to keep it off of his mind. He found himself in the same loop over and over. Sirius was coming to kill him, Sirius was responsible for the death of his parents, he wanted to _kill_ Sirius, he knew he likely couldn't match the man in a fight, the soldiers would handle it, but Sirius had killed _his_ parents...over and over. He'd eventually leave off on how the soldiers would likely take care of the escaped prisoner before Harry ever laid eyes on him, but inevitably he came back around to these thoughts.

It was not helpful that his broom was taken. He understood it, logically. If he really got down to thinking about it, of course it would make sense. Sirius wanted him dead after all, and it was no secret that Harry was a top notch Quidditch player without a broom. A sabotaged Firebolt would be the surest way to hurt him from a distance.

That was all true, provided he was looking at things logically. Lately he was less prone to logic and more emotional than he normally was. Perhaps it was the madman coming to kill him, or the regular adolescent woes, or the fact that he was constantly under guard. They did their best to make it feel like friends just hanging out, but he knew it wasn't the case. Not one hundred percent anyway. All of it contributed to his having a slightly shorter temper and a more brooding attitude.

It wasn't until his Defense Against the Dark Arts class that he even remembered that he had a class to be excited about. He'd asked last term about the possibility of an independent study with Professor Lupin to learn the Patronus charm. He was particularly susceptible to the coldness of dementors, one more stone that weighed him down. It gave him a strong desire to learn a defense against it.

He spent the entire class waiting to talk to the Professor. Lupin appeared to remain focused on the class and if he was as excited to teach the charm to Harry as Harry was to learn it, there was no sign of it.

The class seemed to drag on for Harry, which was an accomplishment seeing as this was Harry's favorite subject. It was absolutely his best study, with consistent Outstanding grades. Today's course was no less interesting. They were covering the basics of how goblins are known to fight. Lupin readily admitted there hadn't been serious conflict between goblins and wizards in almost half a century, but it was good general knowledge to have.

At the end of the class, Lupin asked Harry to stay. They waited until everyone else filed out of the room before Lupin said anything.

"How was your holiday, Harry?" he asked, sitting down wearily in his chair. The Professor looked tired and pale, as though fighting off an illness.

"It was good, sir," Harry replied, wondering if the lie was as obvious as it felt. It wasn't _bad,_ but good was a far stretch from the truth. If Lupin detected the lie, he gave no sign of it. "How are you?" Harry couldn't help but wonder what could be ailing the Professor.

"I'm well myself," he said. Unlike Harry's, the lie was a little more obvious. Harry let it stand. "I have to ask, Harry, are you sure you want to go through with learning the Patronus charm?"

"Sir?" Harry felt himself reeling. He'd looked forward to gaining _some_ semblance of control over his own defense. Learning the Patronus was the first step in defending himself against things with the power to hurt him. He couldn't stand the thought of Lupin backing out now.

"Please, don't misunderstand me." Lupin read the look on Harry's face apparently and held his hands out in a placating gesture. "I am perfectly willing to try teaching you. The Patronus is an advanced charm, however, and I am by no means an expert in its use. I will teach you all I can about it, but it will be exhausting and there is no guarantee you'll be able to accomplish it so young."

"I want to learn it, sir." Harry didn't waver. He saw what Lupin was saying, but if Harry was ever going to be able to fully defend himself instead of relying on others, he needed to just start learning things. He was determined to do this, age be damned.

"I see. I have cleared it with Professor Binns to use his classroom for our training. This room is a little small, I'm afraid. You and I both have Thursday evenings off, say around six?" Harry nodded quickly, accepting the proposed time easily. It dawned on him that it might take him past lights out, but Lupin beat him to the question. "I'll set up a note and talk to your escort."

"Thanks," Harry said, not knowing what else to say. They exchanged goodbyes and Harry went on his way. His thoughts were about how, soon, he would be able to defend himself, at least against dementors. They wouldn't hold the power to knock him unconscious every time they came near.

But then there was Sirius. He'd hardly be affected by a Patronus charm, and likely knew far more in the way of both offensive and defensive magic than Harry would. Just like that he was back in the cycle.

* * *

Hermione found herself in such a unique combination of emotions that she was beginning to wonder which way was up. She was starting to be concerned about her classwork, though this was a superficial concern. She was still comprehending the material and displaying that comprehension better than anyone in the school, but she was a bit distracted in class, which was new to her.

Some of her earliest memories of school concerned her excelling in class. It had cost her the few friends she had and caused what had been, thus far, a lifelong pursuit to excel in all classes. She worked hard to concentrate in class, to be the first to really understand the how and why of what they were learning. It was a habit now, and one she wasn't familiar with breaking.

On the one hand, her relationship with Harry and Ron had taken a turn for the worse. It was awful that they couldn't see that she was looking out for them. It was for safety's sake she turned the broom in. Try explaining that to them, though. With school back in, it was even worse. Ron let it slip...being honest, he probably _intentionally_ let it slip...that she had cost the team a Firebolt. Every time a Gryffindor Quidditch player passed, there were mean looks and rude gestures.

Mike, however...there was a subject that could wipe the emotional slate clean, at least for a while. They'd never come out and said it, but as best as she could figure, they were in a relationship. Their dynamic had completely changed, and as obvious as it likely was, no one mentioned it. They were often closer to each other than was socially appropriate unless you _were_ in a relationship.

Charms had been a pretty easy class, mostly introductory work on the more complex illumination charms. She'd been comfortable with them since second year and easily proved to Professor Flitwick that she'd mastered them. He gave Gryffindor five points and moved on, teaching the course.

Now that it was over she found herself, again, searching for Mike's face in the crowd as she left the room. It would have irritated her, that her heart leapt as she searched, if it didn't make her feel so good and alive. She'd prided herself on _not_ being a romanticizing schoolgirl, and yet here she was. She felt a pang of disappointment as the crowd cleared and Mike was nowhere to be seen. The sinking feeling in her chest wasn't strong, but it was apparent. Until, that is, strong fingers gripped her sides, right where she was most ticklish.

"Aie!" she yelped, jumping and tucking her elbows against the surprise. She turned and saw Mike smiling warmly at her, and she glared at him, struggling to hide the hint of a smile. He loosened his grip on her sides as she turned, though he didn't let her go.

"You know I'm ticklish there," she said, trying to look stern. It obviously failed, as he smiled bigger at her and nodded.

"Yeah," he replied. She rolled her eyes. She'd known he did it on purpose, and apparently he knew she knew too. "How was class?" He gently pressured her side, turning her so they could walk together, leaving an arm wrapped around the small of her back. It was a little thing, but she really enjoyed it. That proof that he absolutely wanted to be around her, to be close to her. That he _chose_ to hold her near.

"It was good," she said without thinking. "I mean, I've already figured out illumination spells..."

"I figured as much," Mike chuckled. Her passion for learning was one of his favorite things about her. Well, maybe not her passion for _learning_ as much as just the _passion._ He didn't imagine it mattered what she was passionate about, seeing her light up was its own reward.

"It'll give me time to focus on _Carpe Retractum..._ a pulling charm." She went on explaining how, while she had the technique down, she needed to master putting her weight behind it in order to move heavier objects. It was difficult to hold the spell and move her body in the opposite direction with force enough to move things. Mike listened raptly, providing input here and there as they walked together to her next class.

* * *

Harry was already partially awake, having heard Brad's soft footsteps even before feeling the soft touch meant to wake him. Harry rolled over and looked at the soldier, who was dressed in his sparring clothing. Harry had been skimping on the personal combat lessons and it looked like Brad was through with waiting.

"Rise and shine," Brad whispered, not wanting to wake any of the other sleeping boys. Harry got up and dressed himself in pants and a t-shirt, the duo making their way to the hard, cold sparring room. "Been a while, lets warm up a bit." Brad indicated the row of dummies along one of the walls.

"Alright." Harry stepped over to the closest dummy and looked at it. It was shaped like a tough looking man, sans the arms and legs. Harry stared at it for a moment, really not feeling like doing the work. He didn't want to have to learn fighting, it would be so much easier to be one of the other kids in the school, with nothing but adolescent worries. It wasn't his fate, however.

Harry threw a half-hearted punch at the dummy, catching it in the middle of the chest. He stared at it a moment longer before a loud _smack_ reverberated throughout the room. Harry looked over to see Brad striking and lining up for another hit. He struck the dummy several times, hard and fast. Harry would loath to be on the wrong end of Brad, that was for sure.

He thought back to how Brad had taught him to hit. He made sure to rotate his body with the punch he threw, putting his weight behind it and landing a solid strike. He looked at the dummy, wishing it was Sirius Black, the source of most of the problems in his life. He needed the security because Sirius was hunting him, he had no parents because Sirius betrayed them...the more he thought about it, the more angry he got.

He struck the dummy again, this time with more force. Using the momentum of the previous strike, he threw a vicious knee into its side. The knee felt like it would have done a lot of damage, so he held the dummy and threw several more knees into its side. On the last hit, he wrapped one arm around its neck, as he'd seen Brad do, and threw his other elbow with all its might into the dummy's face.

"Woah there, tiger," Brad called from closer than Harry expected. Harry stopped, the anger seemingly washed from his body. "You alright?" Brad gestured toward Harry's arm. The confusion didn't last, it seemed as though Brad's gesture turned the nerves back on in Harry's body. His elbow began to ache terribly and when Harry looked, it was dripping a steady flow of blood. His knee hurt as well, though it wasn't bleeding.

"Oh, I..." Harry wasn't sure what he wanted to say, so he just closed his mouth and gripped the elbow that was bleeding.

"Need to work something out?" Brad finished inquisitively. Harry nodded, not knowing what else to do. "If you need to talk, man, just let me know." He said it with a surprising intensity that told Harry he was serious.

"I..." Harry paused. It didn't take much thinking to determine whether or not he trusted Brad. He'd shown nothing but commitment to keeping Harry safe. And it's not like his foray to Hogsmeade was a secret from Brad. He hadn't come to a conscious decision to talk to Brad, but apparently his subconscious had made the decision for him. "Sirius got my parents killed." He said it matter-of-factly, and it hung in the air for a moment.

"Damn," Brad said. He was no stranger to loss, his own parents having been killed in a terrorist attack on the World Trade Centers. He didn't often think about them. It was a unique brand of hurt. It was already a truly painful wound, to lose your parents so young. Worse than that was his almost complete lack of memory about them.

When he thought about it hard, usually alone at night, he thought he remembered a celebration with his parents. It was only flashes, a lot of smiling and a cake. He wasn't certain at all that it was a real memory, sometimes he wondered if it was his imagination. His parents' faces mentally photo-shopped into a generic happy memory. He still wasn't sure, but it was really all he had.

"He was their friend," Harry opted to continue, to tell the whole story. "They grew up together. When Voldemort was hunting my parents, they did this...charm...it hides you completely. It requires a secret keeper, and my parents chose Sirius. He betrayed them, told Voldemort where to look. And he..." Harry didn't need to finish, Brad knew what happened next.

It shed a new light on the situation with Sirius. This wasn't just a man hunting down his former lord's enemy. He was trying to finish a task he'd already started. It was more personal than they'd known. It didn't change a lot, but it helped them understand, and knowledge is power.

"I'm sorry, man," Brad said. "You know, that means it's personal. Makes the chances of that broom coming from him skyrocket."

"Yeah," Harry gave a half-smile. He'd logically known it for a while now, but hadn't been ready to admit it to himself. He really needed to apologize to Hermione and get Ron to lay off a bit.

"Don't worry, we'll smoke that fucker when we find him," Brad said.

"Thanks," Harry replied. He actually did feel a bit better, but the weight off his chest left him feeling more exhausted. The ache in his elbow didn't help either.

"Come on, let's go get you patched up," Brad said, leading Harry to the infirmary wing.

* * *

Later that night, Harry waited for Hermione to get to the common room. He didn't stew, not exactly. It was more a sense that he just wanted to get this done. It was long overdue and he was ready to apologize. Hermione wasn't the first one in, however. Ron came through the doorway with Eric close in tow. Harry gave Eric a pointed look as they entered and, to his credit, Eric immediately caught his drift and excused himself.

"Hey, Harry," Ron said, curious at the serious look on his best friends face. He came and took a seat in a nearby chair.

"I think we've been to harsh on Hermione," Harry just got right to the point. He knew Ron would try and argue, but hoped that the direct path would be the shortest.

"Too harsh with her?" he asked incredulously. "Are you hearing yourself? A _Firebolt_ Harry!"

"She was trying to protect me, and she was right," Harry continued, choosing to ignore Ron's obvious contempt. "It is an obvious way to come after me and caution is the best course. I don't have to like it, but I understand it and you should too."

Ron was silent for a moment, digesting this. He'd been unprepared for his best friend to try and deflate his righteous anger, but he wasn't sure he was ready to give it up. "Do you really think Sirius Black could afford a Firebolt?"

"I don't know, but it won't hurt to make sure it's safe. We need to apologize to her." Harry's voice was stern, final. He left no wiggle room for his friend.

"Right, well go ahead. I'll apologize once she apologizes for trying to kill Scabbers." Ron got up and headed upstairs without another word. Harry hoped he would at least stop being rude to her.

Harry didn't have to wait long before Hermione and Mike came in. They'd obviously been having fun, both of their eyes twinkling and their mouths twisted into grins about some amusing comment made before they'd entered the common room.

"Hey, Hermione. Could I have a word?" Harry asked, trying to sound as natural as possible. He wasn't sure it worked, as the two immediately lost their grins. Mike stepped back but did not leave as Hermione closed the distance and sat next to Harry. She was really great about being the better person, she had every right to just blow him off.

"I wanted to apologize. I know you were just looking out for me and I shouldn't have been so rotten to you. And I shouldn't have let Ron get so carried away," Harry said, unable to bring himself to look into her eyes. "I...I just want to be friends again." Harry hadn't meant to say the last part out loud, but clearly it was the right thing to say. She leapt across the seat and embraced him in a hug.

"Thanks," she said, relieved to have at least one of her best friends back. "I just wanted to do what was best." She broke the hug. Her eyes were glistening, but not spilling over.

"I know, and you did." Harry was surprised how good it felt to have her back. She accepted him so quickly, she really _was_ a genuinely good person. "I just wasn't ready to admit it. I talked to Ron. He's upset about Scabbers, but I think he's going to lay off." In truth, he had no idea if Ron would calm down at all, but he really did hope so.

"Oh, I wish he'd get over it. He's a cat, he chases rats." Hermione sighed. "I try to keep him under control, but I can't help it if Ron lets the rat out anywhere and everywhere."

Before he could reply, however, Oliver Wood came bursting into the room. He had a crazed look on his face and Mike reflexively reached for his sidearm before the Quidditch Captain spoke.

"Ravenclaw lost! We're back in the running!" It took them a minute to understand what he was saying, but Harry felt his heart hammering when he understood. _They were back in the running for the Quidditch Cup_. "We'll have to hold extra practice, Harry, I'll need you at your best." Wood paused a moment, then darted upstairs to share the news with the rest of the boys on the team.

Harry couldn't help the thought that came to mind next. _Sure could use that Firebolt now..._


	20. Practice

AN - Sorry for the delay getting it to you folks, having some internet troubles. They should be on the mend by tomorrow. Thank you Drew and Mariale-26 for your comments. Please, anyone who makes it here leave an honest review on what you like and don't like. It helps me evolve as a writer and it's great motivation. Enjoy!

* * *

The next weeks were a flurry of activity for Harry...an exhausting breeze. Each morning, Harry woke up for a sparring session with Brad. He was getting better, even going so far as to land a light blow on the operator. The hit surprised Harry, though, and Brad capitalized, winning the fight easily. It was a solid lesson in taking the initiative and rolling with it.

Classwork was no lighter than it was before, though his ability to study with Hermione had greatly helped the stresses of homework. It was still a little awkward. As Harry had expected, Ron pigheadedly refused to apologize to Hermione; for her part, she didn't demand one. There was a little tension when the three of them were together, but they were able to work through it.

In the evenings, Wood was holding extra Quidditch practices. Harry was stuck using Cleansweep Five from the school stock, an incredible step down from his old Nimbus. It just wasn't in the same caliber. It was slower to respond and not nearly as fast at its top speed. Harry was sure he was using it to its best potential, but he was far from convinced it would be enough.

The Ravenclaw team was no pushover and Gryffindor would have their work cut out for them. This was a sentiment shared by Wood, as he was constantly telling Harry that there wasn't room for a single mistake. _Work hard, be smart, don't miss anything, pay attention!_ Every practice.

Added to that, the Patronus lessons were every bit as draining and difficult as the Professor had proclaimed. He felt he was making little headway, though Lupin seemed to think otherwise. Thus far he'd managed a small sputter from his wand, but nothing more.

He understood now why it was considered such a difficult spell. Dementors were bad enough to make some of the most hardcore evil wizards feel as though there could never be happiness in life again. He was a teenager, far less life experience to draw from. The wand motion was simple, the incantation easy enough to remember and pronounce.

The difficulty came from how the spell was powered. The happiest memory you could summon. He had a lot going against him there. Thus far, his life hadn't exactly been a breeze. His parents were dead, he grew up in a home that was…less than nurturing. He had to fight trolls and three-headed dogs, cruel teachers, giant snakes… There wasn't a large pool of happiness to draw from, and thus far the things he'd tried were just not enough.

Still, he had to admit, it wasn't a bad time in his life. He had his friend back, and that was something. He really seemed to have more friends too, at least for now. The operators were always near and willing to help, to share their experiences and have fun. He knew they were there on a job, but they _felt_ like friends. That was something anyway.

"Hey, airhead," Ron jabbed him in the side, pulling Harry from his introspection. "You going to ask again?" He was, of course, referring to the Firebolt. Harry was making a rather annoying habit of asking Professor McGonagall at least once a week if his broom was ready for him, cleared of the possibility of evil curses.

As time passed, the urgency he felt only increased. They were only a week and a half away from the game against Ravenclaw. He was starting to seriously fear that he would be mounting a Cleansweep come game day.

"Of course," he whispered, not wanting to draw the ire of their Transfiguration Professor just before asking for something.

"She can't keep it forever, can she?" Ron asked it as though the answer was an obvious no, but Harry knew better. She absolutely could keep it forever if she thought it necessary. He just had to hope that wouldn't be the case.

It felt like a long wait until the end of class, but when it was finally over he stayed behind. Ron gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up and then stepped just outside, obviously not leaving completely. He would wait to hear the news this time around.

"Professor?" Harry asked. The Professor was facing away, working on cleaning the chalkboard. She turned to him sharply, her face as stern as ever.

"Mr. Potter, if you put half the effort you've put into pestering me about your broom into your coursework I suspect you might well be ahead in the class." There was little hint of amusement in her face, though it did soften a bit. "As it so happens, I am in fact finished with your broom. You'll find it's been delivered to your bunk in the tower."

"It's done? It-wasn't-cursed?" He asked the last question so fast it almost sounded like one word.

"Not that we can find, no. I do hope you'll use it well, Mr. Potter. As Professor Snape so kindly reminded me this morning, if we lose again this year it'll make 8 years in a row."

"Of course," he readily agreed. He didn't intend to let anyone else win.

"Was there something else Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked. Harry hadn't realized he was still standing there. With a quick "no,"he was out the door. Ron followed him just as excitedly to his bunk, where, true to the Professors word, his Firebolt lay like a treasure. They wasted no time getting it outside for a test flight.

Of course, they couldn't make it outside without a healthy congregation of Gryffindors wanting to know what was going on. Once they saw the Firebolt, news spread like wildfire. Eventually, most of Gryffindor had followed Harry and Ron out to the Quidditch pitch. Hermione was there as well, a mixture of joy and concern on her face.

"Hey, nothing more you could have done," Mike said from next to her, his hand comfortingly rubbing the small of her back. It was a small gesture she'd seen done to others a thousand times, but it was one of her favorite things. A little sign that he wanted to be close enough to her to touch.

"I know, I really hope it's safe." She didn't take her eyes off the sight as the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team surrounded Harry, looking at his new broom. There were pats on the back and a general buzz of excitement.

"McGonagall and Flitwick looked hard, Hermione." Mike knew because he walked in on them performing their tests. Harry would have been white in the face if he'd seen the state of disassembly they'd had his broom in. Mike had no idea there could be a curse on individual straw strands that could affect the entire broom. He was less worried about the broom being cursed than he was about the broom falling apart while he flew it. _Did they even think to check for that shit?_

"I know, if anyone was going to find something it'd be them." She sighed and leaned against him. It was still surprising toher just how comfortable she'd become with him in such a short time. She leaned on him, hugged him, kissed him, held hands…she'd never let a boy be that close to her and it all somehow felt completely natural. She rather enjoyed it, though she still couldn't fathom letting a different boy that close.

Mike, while having some still-attractive boyish qualities, was rather adult for his age. He was smart and dedicated, strong. He was a joker, always looking to make others smile. That was one of his best qualities. And they weren't childish jokes, not always. He had this sixth sense about humor. He knew when a childish joke would be good, when a prank would be better, and when to shut-the-heck up and be a little more grown-up.

 _And he listened!_ Not only did he put up with, tolerate, her constant talking about learning and knowledge, he actively listened. He seemed genuinely interested whenever she talked. He had no idea what that meant to her. So far in her life, only adults had provided that for her. Never before had a boy, or girl for that matter, genuinely cared about the things she was interested in.

It was funny, because he'd told her more than once that he was nowhere near as passionate about learning as she was. Conversations with the other operators confirmed it. He was definitely _not_ a bookworm. But when she talked about something, he listened. He asked intelligent questions and remembered later down the road when she referenced it. It was a puzzle for her, but not one she felt needed solving right now. Things were still new and exciting, the _why_ didn't feel as important to her. She wasn't quite ready to look this gift horse in the mouth.

Her introspection took all of a split moment, and she was brought out of it as Mike shifted his arm from behind the small of her back to a more natural place around her hip as she leaned against him. His hand rested on her abdomen, not too high and not too low. Close, comfortable, and not trying to push anything along. She doubted another boy in the castle had that self-restraint.

At the same time, Harry shot off like a rocket. She held her breath for a moment, fearing that the broom was actually going to hurt him. Her fears were unfounded, however. He zipped across the pitch at high speeds, turning faster than she'd seen before. It really was exciting to watch and she found herself smiling along with the rest of the crowd. Harry was a nimble Quidditch player already. With this broom, he was absolutely going to be a force to be reckoned with.

For almost half an hour, they watched Harry get a feel for the broom. When Harry came back down there was a lot of cheering and congratulating. Harry let Ron take the broom for a spin. He couldn't stop shouting as he went, obviously exhilarated. Once he made it back down, Hermione stood with Mike watching the two of them for a few more moments.

"You wanna head back up to the common room or stay here?" Mike asked her. She stood there for a moment, enjoying being in his arms. There wasn't much else to see here, the celebration couldn't last a whole lot longer.

"We can go back," she said. They turned and walked hand in hand back to the common room, chatting idly about whatever came to mind. As they were reaching the top of the stairs leading to the Gryffindor common room, they heard Sir Cadogan challenging someone.

"Step back, you dog!" he shouted. Hermione and Mike crested the stairs to see both of the sentries on duty watching on as Neville and the painting struggled with each other.

"Problem, Neville?" Mike asked. Neville looked at him sheepishly.

"I can't remember the password," he admitted. It wasn't outside the norm for the poor fellow. More than once he'd been locked outside the common room. The sentries were forbidden from assisting students inside, lest a Polyjuice potion be in play. They were stuck watching on and it was a more colorful event for Gryffindor, as Sir Cadogan was by far the most aggressive painting. "I wrote it down, but I can't find it."

"Neville, buddy..." Mike sighed. "You can't do that." Not writing down passwords was a 101 level security measure, for exactly this kind of scenario. The password was due to change after tonight anyway, so at least they didn't need to reset anything. It could be a headache. "What if someone got a hold of that?"

"I know, I just keep forgetting it." Neville looked miserable and Mike felt bad. Not wanting to incur further wrath, he decided not to mention he'd not only written the password down, but the next one too. He'd figured it could give him a chance to memorize it. He didn't want to worry them or cause any more headaches, so he kept silent about it. Hermione gave him a comforting squeeze of the shoulder and murmured the password. Sir Cadogan opened the door, suspiciously eyeing Neville the entire way.

"No more writing them down, man." Mike patted Neville on the back and they entered the common room, due for a little silence before the return of the crowd at the Quidditch pitch.

* * *

Hermione and Mike found a spot in front of the fireplace to sit and chat. When the congregation came back from the Quidditch pitch they could hardly hear themselves think. The duo opted to sit silently while they had their makeshift party.

The Weasley twins were breaking out an assortment of trick sweets, which were very popular. The operators wisely didn't accept any of the treats. Soon, however, the partying died down and things got quieter. It was then that Ron came over to Hermione.

"So, satisfied?" he asked, a little snootier than was necessary. Mike rolled his eyes a bit but allowed Hermione to speak for herself.

"Yes, I am. I'm glad that it wasn't cursed." She readily admitted it. She was a Gryffindor too, and wanted to see them win the house cup as much as anyone. Well, perhaps a little less, since _some_ of them would have happily risked Harry's safety for a better shot.

"Maybe next time you won't overreact, huh?" Ron was obviously feeling a bit high and mighty. "Anything you want to say?"

"Are you seriously fishing for an apology?" Mike couldn't help himself. Sometimes Ron could be so pigheaded. "She was right, shut up and go to bed." Mike's tone left little room for argument. Ron stood there for a moment longer, then went off to bed.

"He can be such a _jerk,_ " she sighed, leaning back into him.

"Yeah, he's just rubbing it in because he's probably never been right against you before," Mike gave her a playful poke to the ribs which earned him an elbow in kind. She smiled at him nonetheless and opened her mouth to speak. Whatever she was going to say would remain a mystery, as Ron thundered back down the stairs.

"I warned you, HERMIONE!" Ron shouted. Mike stood quickly, leaving a surprised Hermione on the couch. Ron was carrying his bedding with him.

"What's the prob-" Mike started, but Ron wasn't paying any attention to him. He only had eyes for Hermione.

"I TOLD YOU TO WATCH YOUR MURDEROUS CAT!" Ron shouted at her. She stood up with a look of genuine confusion on her face, her cheeks flushed with adrenaline.

"What are you on about, Ron?" Her voice quivered but she managed to maintain a straight face.

"THIS!" He threw the ball of sheets past Mike, who wasn't expecting it and failed to intercept it for her. It struck her in the chest and she caught it, feeling something wet. She dropped it on the couch as she saw blood on her hands and shirt. "Two can play this game, Hermione! I'll kill that blasted cat next time I see it!" He threw a pinch of orange fir from his hand towards her. It didn't make it far, but the point was made. He'd found the orange fir with the blood.

"Cool your shit, Ron." Mike crossed the short distance between them and put a hand on his chest, pushing the hothead back toward the stairs. Brad came to help escort Ron back upstairs while Eric went to take a look at the sheets. Everyone else was completely silent. They consciously averted eyes from Hermione, who had silent tears running down her face.

Ron put up a half-effort fight to stay downstairs, but Mike gave him a hearty shove that told him resistance would end poorly. They went upstairs and after getting things settled, Mike went back downstairs to Hermione. Everyone else had left the common room to her. He gave her a tight hug and comforted her from the sudden confrontation, assuring her that it wasn't her fault.

* * *

The next week was a blur for just about everyone, but Harry took the cake as far as keeping busy. He was spending every evening learning everything he could about how his broom handled. The team practices, being held nightly until the upcoming game, were exhilarating and exhausting at the same time. The entire team was performing at the top of their game, working together strongly. The going theory was that Harry's new broom was the kick in morale they needed.

Hand-to-hand practice with Brad had been a little more relaxed during the week, being that he had so much else on his plate. They were more accurately described as a cardio workout than actual sparring. Brad insisted that it wouldn't be like that for long, just until after the game. He said that he was familiar with limits and told Harry he shouldn't "burn the candle at both ends."

The Patronus lesson was every bit as exhausting as Harry was expecting. He'd left the lesson dragging. He'd again managed to make a fizzle at the end of his wand, a "non-corporeal Patronus" as Lupin called it. It was no small feat according to the Professor, who had cheered him on. It kept the boggart/dementor from getting any closer, which was a win. It didn't last very long, however, and he felt disheartened. Lupin insisted they were making great progress, and Harry did his best to trust the Professor.

Regular coursework was the icing on the cake, bringing all of the stresses he juggled together in a neat little package. Two scrolls on illumination charms, a scroll on transfiguring tea cups into pitchers, three on what ingredients are best suited for energizing draughts and why...it was an incredible load of work. He was thankful to have Hermione helping him through the heavy coursework.

Ron couldn't say the same, though he wouldn't likely say it even if it was true. He'd tried to remain pigheaded when Brad told him off for the display in the common room. He was allowed to be upset, and he didn't have to be friends with Hermione if he didn't want to be, but that kind of behavior wasn't going to continue.

Ron reluctantly agreed, and since then Hermione and Ron had taken to completely ignoring the existence of one another. It was such a hassle in Harry's mind, the on again off again nature of Ron's friendship, at least with Hermione. What could he do, though? He'd-

"Harry, you listening?" Wood asked, breaking Harry out of his wandering mind. He caught an elbow in the ribs at about the same time and Katie Bell was giving him a sharp look.

"Yeah, sorry," he said. The last practice before game day was always a bit of a rush. A side effect of Harry's taking on of so many different projects was that he sometimes drifted off.

He listened intently as Wood divided the team evenly, not just in numbers, but in skill and experience. It wasn't going to be one of those fluff practices, an easy victory to boost morale before the big game. Wood wanted to win and he was going to make the team fight and work a sharp edge to earn that win.

Soon, they were out on the pitch. He was on the team opposing Wood. The entire Gryffindor class was watching them practice tonight. They often had a few spectators, especially at the last practice before a game. The Firebolt was a bit of a legend in Gryffindor, though. It drew everyone, who wanted to see it in action.

A high-pitched whistle and the game was started. Harry kicked off with everyone else and was disappointed to see Wood's team take the Quaffle. That disappointment was tempered by an adrenaline rush as a flash of gold passed his face. He tracked it and willed his broom to go after it. The broom obeyed with precision he was still getting used to and he almost passed the Snitch before he plucked it out of the sky.

There was a moment of disbelief in the crowd before the stands erupted in cheers. The practice game ended less than a minute in, before anyone could make a score of any kind. They took it as a good omen, and the practice went on with everyone performing at the top of their game.

By the time practice was over, every Gryffindor was buzzing. To an individual, Gryffindor was going into the game expecting to mop the floor with Ravenclaw, and no one could wait to see it happen.


	21. Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw

AN - Thank you for the review deathwing17, rest assured we are nearing the end of the Sirius arc. I am very excited to hit 13,000 views, thank you all. As always, please leave a review on what you like/don't like. Enjoy!

* * *

"Harry, make sure to win," Percy Weasley said in almost a whisper. Harry was seated with Ron and the rest of the Quidditch team at the Gryffindor table, his Firebolt in the center of the table like a shrine. "I don't _have_ ten galleons...yes, coming Penelope!" Percy was off like a rocket after his girlfriend.

"You reckon you can _do_ that?" a voice sneered from behind him. Harry recognized it immediately...where was Mike when you need him? He glanced at the operators table, where Hermione and the rest of the operators were eating and chatting happily. Harry signed inwardly and turned to see Malfoy, who was impressive in his ability to look disgusted at such a fine broom.

"Yeah, I think I can manage," Harry replied curtly, hoping that Malfoy might call it good with that. He didn't walk away, however.

"Loads of features...too bad that there isn't a parachute for you to use the next time the dementors come." Malfoy smirked at Harry, and the offended looks by the rest of the Gryffindor team, who had finally realized he was there.

"Bugger off, Malfoy," Fred called out.

"Your're just jealous that Daddy didn't buy _you_ one." George continued the comment as though it was all one sentence. The brothers smiled at each other as Malfoy glared back at them.

"It's too bad they can't attach an extra arm to yours Malfoy," Harry retorted. "Then it could catch the Snitch for you." The Gryffindor team all laughed loudly and Malfoy didn't stand around for another round.

They enjoyed their breakfast, and then the team went out for a light practice. Flying around a bit, tossing a Quaffle back and forth. No real action, they'd save their energy for the game. At a quarter to noon, the entire team was assembled in their locker area. They could hear cheering from outside and the excitement was palpable.

"This is it, boys and girls." Wood was starting his traditional inspiring speech. It was something of a joke at this point. Though no one dared say it to his face, the Weasley twins grinned at each other, likely doing their best to guess what was coming next. "We were out of the running, but not anymore. We can still win this thing, we can still get the Cup!"

"Anything for you, Wood!" Fred called out. Wood just gave him a brief dirty look at the mocking and continued.

"We are a great team this year, and Harry's Firebolt just gives us that much more of an edge. Let's get out there and show the school that Gryffindor means business!" They cheered and everyone headed outside. It wasn't terribly bright out; the sun being blocked by clouds. Harry was just glad that it wasn't going to be a dark, stormy game like last time.

The Ravenclaw team, all dressed in blue, were already standing at the middle of the pitch. It was difficult to hear Madame Hooch over the roar of the crowd. Harry chanced a look around. He saw the camouflage uniforms in the Gryffindor section that could only be most of Reaper team. Brad, he assumed was among the uniformed individuals around the pitch on the ground level.

Harry glanced back at the Ravenclaw team and spotted their seeker, Cho Chang. She was the only girl on the team, just a little shorter than he was and he couldn't stop a small smile at her. She was very pretty. To his embarrassment, she caught him smiling at her and smiled back, an equally nervous look on her face.

Harry spotted movement and saw the two team captains walking forward to shake hands. Harry was pleased to see it was an amicable handshake, none of the aggression he was used to getting from Slytherin. It wouldn't be a brawl, it'd be a sport, the way he preferred it.

"Moun-" Madame Hooch called out to them. He couldn't hear her words over a sudden roar from the crowd in the Ravenclaw stands, who were doing some kind of chant. He was familiar with the process though and was pretty certain it was time to mount his broom. He did so and saw her bring the whistle to her lips. She gave it a hearty blow and he thought that maybe he heard it, but wasn't sure. Everyone kicked off, so he did the same and the game began in earnest.

Harry's kick off sent him higher and faster than anyone else and he heard Lee Jordan, announcer for the game mentioning his Firebolt. Right after was McGonagall, trying vainly to keep him on task. Harry zipped across the field and came to a sudden stop, nice and high so he could scan for the Snitch. He was moving faster than he needed to in order to get from place to place, but the speed and handling were still new to him and he couldn't help but enjoy it.

He watched on as Katie Bell soared across the pitch with the Quaffle in her arm, half of the Ravenclaw team chasing her madly. A glint of gold. Harry zipped down after it, the rush of cold air past his ears painful and exhilarating all at once. He glanced behind himself and saw that Cho was keeping close, or trying to. She was smart about her moves, weaving just right between other flyers in order to keep close.

"Show her your acceleration, Harry! She can't keep up!" Wood called out from somewhere, Harry wasn't sure. He glanced at Cho again and could swear she was grinning. He looked forward again for the Snitch just in time to see a Bludger coming straight at him. He broke off and was amused to see that Cho had already done the same. She'd spotted it before he did.

The course change had thrown him off and he lost sight of the Snitch, so he started patrolling the pitch from high above the game. He heard that Gryffindor was in the lead, eighty to zero. Katie and Alicia were clobbering the Ravenclaw Keeper.

Another glint of gold, down by the Gryffindor goals. Harry rushed down and out of nowhere, Cho was in his path. He swerved to avoid hitting her and by the time he righted himself, it was gone. He glanced at her and she winked at him and took off. She knew he'd spotted it and couldn't hope to beat him in a race, so she blocked him. She _was_ a smart one.

"NEXT TIME KNOCK HER OVER!" Wood cried out, "YOU'VE GOT THE MOMENTUM!" Harry smirked at the competitiveness of his captain. There was no way he was going to do that, but he had to admire the passion.

Harry searched around the game for another ten minutes, acutely aware of Cho keeping paces with him. He made a sudden dive, almost straight down. Cho, thinking he'd spotted the Snitch, dove after him. She struggled to keep pace as he pushed his broom to its max, then pulled up as he reached closer to the ground. Cho, knowing she'd been fooled, struggled to pull up as well, shooting off in another direction.

Harry, as he leveled out, spotted the Snitch for the third time in the game, glittering along toward the other end of the pitch. He pushed forward as fast as he could, relying on his broom's speed. He was obvious in his effort and knew that a well-placed Bludger would knock him off course in a dangerous way.

Harry could only explain what happened next after speaking to Brad about it after the game. Everything seemed to go in slow motion. He heard shouts from nearby and saw some of the soldiers on the ground raising their rifles, toward the snitch of all ridiculous things. He saw one of them pulling at one of the boxes and immediately recognized it as a Patronus Pack.

The only reason to pull one was a dementor though. Harry felt his heart sink even before he looked back toward the Snitch. When he did, he saw not one but three dementors streaking across the ground level toward him. His response was automatic, even as the blast from the Patronus Pack started. Harry pulled his wand as fast as he could and pointed it directly at them.

" _Expecto patronum!"_ he cried out. He saw a silver streak shoot from his wand, but didn't stop to watch. His mind felt clear and out of the corner of his eye, he could still see the Snitch. He shot at it and, after stowing his wand, plucked the golden sphere out of the air, then streaked down to land his broom.

It was almost like when Dudley got the remote control and started turning up the volume for his favorite show. He hadn't realized that he wasn't hearing anything until it started coming back. He glanced over toward the dementors and saw them laying in a heap, several soldiers running forward with their rifles aimed in, shouting commands. Harry was surprised to see some very human looking hands pop out of the heap. It was then that his hearing was back to the point that he could understand words.

"I have never seen such a _COWARDLY_ act of sabotage!" McGonagall shouted as the soldiers grabbed, and roughly pulled out of the pile, several Slytherin Quidditch players. She continued shouting at them as the soldiers bound them and confiscated their wands. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Marcus Flint, the team captain.

Harry didn't hear more of the commotion as scarlet blurs came running up to him, his team all shouting congratulations at him. He lost focus on the pseudo-dementors and grinned widely at the rest of his team.

"Well done, Harry!" Wood clapped him on the back. They took turns congratulating each other, and soon the rest of the crowd was on the pitch.

"That was bloody brilliant!" Ron shouted as he closed in. Hermione was there, along with Mike. He was the only operator there, the rest dealing with the attempted sabotage of the game. Harry greeted them happily, everyone exchanging comments.

"Quite a Patronus you managed, Harry," a voice said behind him. He turned to see Lupin. The tall Professor was standing right behind him, looking pleased as well as shaken. He'd clearly been thinking what-ifs.

"They weren't real dementors," Harry said. For a moment he was excited, they hadn't had any effect on him. Only now was he piecing together that it was because they weren't real.

"They weren't real, but that Patronus was, Harry," Lupin said, giving him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. "Magnificent work, now go celebrate." He nudged Harry toward his friends, who engulfed him with praise and celebration.

* * *

Brad watched as Harry streaked toward the Ravenclaw goals, low and fast. It was really an incredible sport, fun to watch. He looked for any sign of the...whatever...it was. He couldn't keep track of his own sports, let alone wizard ones. He caught movement just behind the goals. It took him a moment to identify it. Three tall, black robed, hooded figures.

"Dementors, east goal!" Brad cried out, leveling his rifle at them. He wasn't currently equipped with a Patronus Pack, so the rifle was all he had. He knew that there was a man with a pack closer to them anyways.

 _Crack, crack, crack, crack!_ The sound of rifle fire was loud as he and several others started taking controlled shots with their enchanted munitions. Even as he'd started firing, the first Patronus Pack went off, one of the nearby soldiers reacting immediately. Another silver streak came from the sky at the dementors and they crumpled in a heap as everything was impacting simultaneously. He'd never seen dementors go down, but if they had the advantage, they needed to press it.

Brad almost ordered the unit forward but they were every bit as trained as he was and almost at once they started running forward with his rifle trained on the heap. The others knew just as well as he did when to press, and the momentum of the fight was in their favor. Out of his peripherals, he could see others advancing with him. As he neared the heap he could hear groans.

"Stay the fuck down!" he shouted at the mess of limbs.

"Don't move motherfuckers!" Another voice called out from next to him, equal in its tone. A tone of authority that left no room for interpretation. You did _not_ ignore it and you did _not_ disobey. An arm popped out of the groaning mess and Brad had a brief moment of confusion before everything clicked.

Dementors _don't_ go down, they _don't_ groan and lay there. People do. Brad flushed with anger as he let go of his rifle, letting it hang from the chest harness as he grabbed the arm with both hands and yanked roughly. Sure enough, a human popped out of the jumble, held up by Brad. The others, seeing this, did the same and pulled the rest of them out. Brad recognized the face and slicked back hair of Draco Malfoy underneath him. The boy tried to pull his arm free and Brad was having none of it.

"Don't move, asshole!" Brad hooked a foot under the boy's feet and toppled him flat on his stomach. Brad pressed his knee into the middle of Malfoy's back, earning a pained groan. Brad pulled the boy's arms behind his back and flex-cuffed him.

"I have _NEVER_ seen such a cowardly act of sabotage!" McGonagall's high voice cut through the noise of the crowd. Brad stood up, fully agreeing. These punk-ass Slytherins didn't even realize how lucky they were. Brad and Major Price had a conversation just last night on whether or not to use lethal rounds against dementors.

McGonagall continued yelling at the bound Slytherins for a few moments. She assured them that Dumbledore would hear about it and took fifty points each from Slytherin. Dumbledore showed up in no time and the look on his face was far less than his normal, twinkling peacefulness. He looked pretty upset. By that point, the pitch had largely cleared. Snape was nearby, scowling at the boys.

"Sit 'em up, boys," Brad called as the Dumbledore approached. They sat the four detained students on their knees, still bound.

"Do you even understand the magnitude of your foolishness?" the Headmaster asked, eyeing each of them in turn. They were completely silent.

"Headmaster asked you a question," Brad shook Malfoy's shoulder, not willing to let them get away without saying anything.

"Wuh-jussup-rank," Goyle said, almost under his breath. Dumbledore squinted at him and even Brad, who was right next to the bound student, couldn't understand him. Malfoy gave his fellow a quick glare and Brad helpfully shoved his head back down toward the ground. No use letting the kid think he was in control here.

"Speak up," the solider behind Goyle gave a nudge to the students back.

"Was just a prank." Goyle looked up at Dumbledore for understanding. The Headmaster simply shook his head.

"With your permission, sir," Brad interjected, "my guys can handle the detention." Dumbledore looked to Brad and regarded him for a moment. "They won't want to be in our detention again, sir. I guarantee it."

"I trust that will be the case," Dumbledore beckoned McGonagall and Snape to follow him, leaving the four bound students with the troops. Brad got in front of them and regarded each of them individually.

"That was a damned stupid move, boys." He eyed Malfoy in specific, certain that the little brat was the ringleader of this little exercise. "Next week you guys get detention with me for a day, and it's gonna be a good day." He let it sink in for a minute, allowed them to imagine the possibilities. "Cut 'em loose."

* * *

"Who can even keep track of that shit?" Private Aaron Jelenic asked his partner. They were standing guard duty outside the Gryffindor common room, and had been for the last four hours. Two to go. They'd heard that the game was done and figured any minute the crowd would be back to celebrate, or sulk.

"Wizard rules aren't _that_ hard if you have half a brain." The reply was from Private Peter Delphiki, and Aaron was pretty convinced the guy wanted to be a wizard. It was always Wizard's Chess _this,_ Quidditch _that,_ wand-stuff...you name it.

"Dude, what's the point of the _entire game_?" It was exasperating having this argument again, but maybe he could get through. He loved the Spartan dearly, he was a good guy. But, maybe a bit obsessive. _C_ _ouldn_ _'t he be interested in Oakleys and artillery like the rest of us_? "Game can literally go on for _hours,_ and nothing that happens in the game matters. A team of badasses can play the ultimate game against a bunch of losers, and if the loser team gets the Snitch, even by accident, _BOOM,_ done. Game over, good team lost. It's horseshit."

"So you invest in a good Seeker." Now it was Peter sounding exasperated. "And you can win without getting the Snitch, you just need-"

 _Crash!_ Just down the stairs from them. They both jogged forward and saw Neville Longbottom struggling to catch his books as they tumbled down a few steps. _Christ, that kid could make a mess._

"Need a hand, bud?" Peter asked, stepping down to help. Lord, that guy was a freaking paragon. There was no way to get out of it without being a dick, so he trotted down with his companion to help.

Behind them, from an adjacent staircase that was not connected at all, a large, black, shaggy dog got a running start and hopped the gap. It wasn't a short jump and he almost missed, his back paws just barely making it. No one heard him. The dog, just outside of view of the painting, stopped and morphed into a human quietly.

"Who goes there!?" Sir Cadogan shouted at the newcomer as he approached. To his surprise, and a little bit to his ire, the reply came from down the stairs.

"It's Neville, you half-crazed bastard, and he isn't even upstairs!" one of the sentries called out. The newcomer just looked at a slip of paper in his hand and read off the correct password. Sir Cadogan opened the door and the man was a dog again before entering.

Sir Cadogan closed the portrait and continued his duties. It was a few moments before the sentries made it back upstairs again, Neville close in tow. He struggled with the password for a full minute before stumbling on the right one and being allowed in, the sentries just shaking their heads at the helpless fellow. Too bad they weren't allowed to help with passwords.


	22. Attack

AN - Thanks for the comment, guest. I will say that the Slytherin kids are in for a treat. Please, feel free to leave a review on what you like/don't like. Enjoy!

* * *

The party in the common room raged on for hours. Fred and George brought an assortment of confections to the mix and one of the older Gryffindor boys pulled some strings with the house elves, getting them several pitchers of pumpkin juice.

Harry found it was a flurry of activity as he was the center of attention for the most part. People made rounds, congratulating him on the victory, talking about his skill with the nimble broom and even a few compliments on the spell he used against the dementors. The few who knew what a Patronus was were very impressed, while the others were just impressed he'd managed any spell.

"It's too bad Scabbers is gone," Ron said loudly. He was seated nearby, talking to a pair of second year girls who were taken in by his forlorn look. Hermione, who was seated between Harry and Mike, rolled her eyes. He was a bit overbearing. "He really loved these Fudge Flies." There was a chorus of "aww's" from the girls.

"I think I'm going to go to bed," Hermione said. Mike and Harry gave her apologizing looks. They'd both talked to Ron, more than once, about the attitude. He insisted that Hermione needed to apologize to him about the loss of Scabbers. For her part, she refused to take all of the blame, saying Ron needed to keep better care of his sickly rat. That Ron was so childish about it was his own doing, and though it frustrated Hermione, she wasn't willing to do anything about it.

"I'd escort you up, but..." Mike let the sentence hang. It was a throwback to an amusing moment earlier on in the year, when he'd bloodied himself up after forgetting that boys were not allowed in the girl's dorm. It was an honest mistake and he'd made it almost a quarter of the way up the stairs before they flattened into a slide and he smashed his face in the process. It was becoming a bit of an inside joke for them. She stood up, bid the boys goodnight, and headed upstairs to her dorm.

The party raged on for another hour or so before things showed any sign of slowing down. The most energetic of the partygoers burned themselves out earlier and turned in for the night. Brad showed up and took the empty spot that Hermione had left.

"So, what do you have in mind for the Slytherins?" Harry asked. It was well past ten and things were winding down quite a bit. People were huddled in groups, finishing off the last of the food and drink. Harry had worked at remaining patient during the party, but he was excited to see Malfoy get into such public trouble.

"Oh, nothing builds character like good ol' fashioned hard work," Brad replied with a grin. "Jason and Eric are filling out the paperwork at the command center." They'd used force on students, unwittingly. It was quite a bit of paperwork. Eric and Jason got the pleasure of report writing for this incident, while Mike and Brad stayed in the common room on their normal duties.

They talked for a short time after that. When Harry decided it was time to rest basically everyone got the same idea. Within a few moments, the common room cleared out. There was a quick snap after they left as a pair of house elves cleaned the mess left behind, then Brad and Mike were alone in the common room. They both chose their preferred sleeping spots and laid back to get some rest.

* * *

"RRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" The bloodcurdling scream came from upstairs, waking Brad instantly. He pulled his sidearm from its holster and was up on his feet in a fluid motion, noting that Mike had done the same. The air was eerily silent for a second and Brad briefly wondered if he'd dreamed the scream. "It's him!" Brad started toward the stairs but the sound of footsteps thundering down toward him stopped him.

He braced himself and started to raise his handgun but was too late. The dark robed figure hurtling toward him had his wand up and suddenly, Brad found himself flying across the room. He crashed into the wall, pain shooting up his back.

 _Pop, pop, pop._ Brad heard the trio of shots and knew at least Mike wasn't taken by surprise. He cursed himself silently and pushed himself off the ground just in time to see Mike get struck in the face by a spell. The operator seemed to lose all control of his body, slumping down where he stood and striking his head on a nearby table.

Brad quickly targeted the escaped convict, who hadn't had time to turn away from Mike. Brad squeezed off several shots and was satisfied to see his target fall backward. The _Stupefy_ enchanted rounds probably wouldn't last long against his opponent so he moved fast.

He started toward the downed form of Sirius Black, changing magazines with practiced ease and never changing his aim. As he closed in, he pulled the handgun tight toward himself, still aiming at Black. He used his other hand to roughly yank the man onto his abdomen, wrenching the man's arm behind his back as he planted a knee firmly into the square of his back.

"Uugh." The sigh of pain escaped the convict's lips. Now that Brad was on top of the man, the smell was overpowering. The hard scent of an unwashed body and something that reminded him of a wet dog. Brad wrinkled his nose in disgust as he pushed the barrel of his sidearm into the man's back.

"Don't fucking try anything," he growled. By then, one of the sentries from outside had convinced Sir Cadogan to open up and had made it inside, the other continuing to stand watch and reporting the incident. Soon, the Quick Reaction Force would be mobilized.

"I've got him, sir," the sentry called, meaning that he was targeting the now captive Sirius Black. Brad holstered his sidearm, confident that if it came to a fight, the sentry would put a round in Sirius before things got far. He pulled a set of zip-tie handcuffs from his belt, which he carried specifically for occasions like this, and looped one of the ends around Sirius' wrist, tightening it. He reached for the man's other hand, pulling it behind his body.

"What the-" the sentry called out. "Ahh!" the sentry yelled out. Brad tried to look up- C _rack!_ He felt a searing pain in his side and his body went ridged for a split second. He saw an orange ball of fur attached to the face of the sentry who was struggling to throw it off.

Sirius sensed the opportunity and took advantage of it right away, pushing up from the ground and throwing a stunned Brad off of him. He snatched up his wand from the floor near him and bolted for the opened painting.

* * *

Outside the common room, Sgt. Sara Freeman and her counterpart, Cpl. Dennis Malone were at their sentry post. They'd drawn the short straw this time around. Sentry shifts were only six hours long, and they cycled through the infantry enough that there were only about two shifts a week per person. Catching night shift twice in a row this week was a rough one, but so it goes.

They'd remained silent, since there wasn't much to say. Dennis was a polar opposite from Sara. That's not to say he was a bad soldier, far from it. The Spartans took pride in their soldiering. That said, where she was a full-time ass kicker, he was a technician. They were all trained as soldiers and he could hold his own in fight, but he specialized in battlefield communication systems.

Her idea of a good conversation ranged from past exercises and battles to weapons systems. She enjoyed physical exercise and sparring. He was a...well, he was a nerd. He liked everything computers, his idea of fun was number crunching for fuck's sake. How do you connect with that on a personal level?

 _Pop, pop, pop._ Gunshots from inside the common room. Shit was going down. Sara and Dennis immediately shouldered their rifles. Sara knew the protocol. She was in charge, so she needed to report this. Someone _had_ to remain at the post, and since talking on the radio would inhibit her ability to fight, that meant sending Dennis in. _Fucking figures._

"Get in there," she said, pointing at the painting. Dennis nodded once and started toward the painting. A muffled thump from inside, like someone hitting a table or wall.

"Wattbird," Dennis said to the painting as he shouldered his rifle. Sir Cadogan turned his nose up at them smugly. "Wattbird, motherfucker, open up. They need help!" As if to punctuate their need for help, another string of muffled gunshots went off.

"It's fucking _Wattlebird_!" Sgt. Freeman called out to her partner as he struggled. He repeated it and the knight reluctantly opened. As soon as the painting released from the wall, the Corporal pulled it the rest of the way open and entered.

"Guardian, Bulls-eye, shots fired inside the common room!" she almost screamed it, but forced herself to be calm. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. Don't panic and work too fast, do it right the first time. Being one of the few girls in the Spartans, she'd had her work cut out for her, proving she was just as capable.

They'd tried, early on in the training program, to give the girls different standards. More time during PT runs, fewer push-ups and pull-ups. She, along with a few of the other girls, showed the instructors where they could stuff those alternate standards. All that work, the last thing she needed was a panicked, girly voice when she made her radio report.

"Guardian copies all, Bulls-eye." The voice that came through was the same, calm one they'd had since deploying here. Seemed like no matter what happened, whoever Guardian was, they were solid as a rock. "QRF is inbound, ETA 3 mikes."

Three minutes could be a long ass time. Unfortunately, the Quick Reaction Force was stationed at the top of the school, next to a pair of helicopters. On order, they could be wheels up and inbound to any location around the school where a threat might be in less than five minutes.

The down side of that was that if the threat happened on say, the third floor, the QRF needed to run all the way down. There was a sense to that too, it was a lot easier to run downstairs than up. It didn't really make that three minutes any faster, though.

 _Crack!_ A rifle shot from inside. It sucked staying out at the post. She was sure Sirius Black must be in there. Everything pointed to them needing a hand in there. But if it _wasn't_ Sirius, and he used her absence from the post to sneak somewhere…

"Fuck it," she muttered, turning and shouldering her rifle. She'd deal with the consequences if necessary, but they needed some help. She rounded the open door of the painting and _SLAM,_ she was knocked square on her ass. She was, by most definitions, petite and the sprinting adult that ran into her had more than enough weight behind him to knock her over. He toppled to the ground between her and the staircase and scrambled for the stairs.

She reacted fast, sitting up partway and shouldering her rifle and firing before she was fully aimed. _Motherfucker, too fast._ The round skipped off the ground behind the crawling convict and she was pretty sure it struck him square in the ass. The stunning enchantment would have been wasted on the ground, but a plastic round to the ass will make you think long and hard about fighting back.

She sat up the rest of the way and heaved herself off the ground with a bit of a struggle. She was strong for her size, but the full battle gear was still heavy and her stubbornness didn't make it any lighter. It just meant she fought through it, like anyone else. She shouldered the rifle and crept to the end of the staircase to see Sirius Black just hitting the end of the stairs leading to the second floor.

She aimed more carefully this time, tracking him but she couldn't get a good shot. He made it around the corner and she threw herself down the stairs after him, keying her radio.

"Guardian, Bulls-eye, HVT sighted heading into the second-floor corridor from my position. Multiple friendlies down, Bulls-eye pursuing." She made it to the end of the stairs and heard Guardian copy her radio traffic. She raised the rifle and started around the corner. She saw his figure as he rounded into an adjacent corridor.

"It's over, give up!" she screamed at him in a commanding voice. She wasn't shrill or feminine, nor was her voice deep. It was, however, loud as hell and she'd stopped more than one incident with that. It was no dice this time, Sirius Black kept running. She sprinted after him, soon nearing the same corner, where she heard a soft whimper.

"Don't move!" she shouted again in that same command voice. She rounded the corner and saw a large, shaggy, black dog. It was whimpering, hopping along with a limp. It looked like the back paw was hurt. Poor thing. The door beyond was open, and she wasn't a veterinarian anyways, so she ran past it and after Sirius.

* * *

"Jesus," Brad groaned. He felt like he'd been hit by a truck. Right in the damned ribs. "What the fuck?" He worked himself to a seated position and saw the common room swarming with troops. He recognized Major Price talking to Professor McGonagall and one of the sentries from outside the common room. Mike and the other sentry were being treated by medics.

"Easy, Captain," a voice next to him said. He looked over to see another medic and the QRF commander, Lieutenant Han Tzu. "You took a solid hit, one of the stun rounds."

"Casualties?" Brad asked, standing up painfully. The medic had a look of concerned protest, but didn't stop the operator. The reply came from the QRF commander.

"Three wounded, and you're looking at 'em." The Asian Lieutenant was one of the few Spartans from outside the United States, his parents having been lost during a humanitarian mission in Vietnam. Some rebel group held them for ransom, ultimately killing them. A US Special Forces team, operating on information gleaned from the ransom video, found the group and rescued the rest of the captives. When the military found him, the Spartan program coordinators offered him a chance to keep other kids safe. He took it and never looked back.

"Harry?" Brad noticed that the Lieutenant had used the term _wounded_.

"Everyone's fine, Captain." Han said. "Black accidentally attacked Ron's bed. We are still working on how he got in...he escaped, too."

"Motherfucker...I had him." His memory of the event flooded back to him. He'd only needed to get one more hand in the flex-cuff and they'd have been set. Then, Crookshanks attacked the sentry, and the sentry panicked and shot Brad. _Fucking cats…_

"Captain," Major Price walked over, noticing that Brad was up and about. McGonagall followed, close in tow. "Report."

It was a long hour and a half, everyone debriefing, relaying the details of the incident. By the end, they and an absolute picture of what had happened.

One of the Gryffindor students, Neville Longbottom, had written down _and_ lost the passwords for the next week. Sirius had gotten his hands on this password and Sir Cadogan, unfathomably paid little mind to _who_ used the password and let the convict in. Sirius waited in the common room and accidentally attacked the wrong bed, Ron's bed. As he tried to make his escape, having failed to kill Harry, he hit Mike with a sleeping curse and, due to the unlikely and ill-timed assistance of Hermione's cat, escaped from Brad and the sentry.

The next part was the interesting one. With the details provided by Sgt. Freeman, namely, that she saw a black dog, Professor McGonagall provided them with a theory. Apparently, there was a type of wizard called an Animagus, and they could turn into an animal. It was rare, and Sirius wasn't registered as one, but the shoe fit. After inquiring from other incidents, they found there was a correlation with the black dog and Sirius Black incidents.

By the next morning, they'd officially decided to treat Sirius Black as an unregistered Animagus. They were now certain of what they were looking for, and very confident that there would be no further incursion into the castle. The explanation helped ease a lot of consciences. They were glad that a normal wizard wasn't running all over the castle they were guarding. Everyone was now on the lookout, not only for Sirius Black, but for a large black dog as well, and orders were to stun either on sight.

Neville was no longer to be allowed to learn the password. He was to stand at the head of the stairs until someone came along to let him in. Sir Cadogan was unceremoniously taken back to his original place, no longer allowed to cover the entrance to a common room. The Fat Lady was finished with her repairs and had finally been convinced to resume her post.

More interestingly, two stories about the incident circulated like wildfire the following morning, one among students and another among the Spartans.

The first was that of Ron, who woke to see Sirius Black poised over him with a wand pointed at the redhead's face. Sirius had yanked the blankets off of him, searching madly around the bed, as though it would change who was laying in it. He'd angrily asked Ron where Harry was, calling him "the rat," and when Ron shouted, Black seemed to snap out of it, running away.

The next was the story of Sgt. Freeman, who fired off a shot too quick and ricocheted a plastic round into the ass of their foe. It didn't matter to anyone that she'd fired before she aimed, and it didn't matter to anyone that there was no telling exactly where the round landed. By lunchtime, every Spartan was convinced that Sgt. Sara Freeman had shot Sirius Black square in the asshole, and she was a goddamn hero to every one of them.


	23. A Late Night Walk

AN - Sorry for the delay getting this one out, for whatever reason the site wouldn't let me upload new documents for a while. Thank you for the review Blumoon00, I am glad you're enjoying and I am just as excited to keep this story going. We are getting a lot closer to the really AU stuff that I am excited about. Enjoy, and feel free to leave reviews!

* * *

"Oh, you poor thing," a second year Hufflepuff rubbed a comforting hand on Ron's arm. Hermione rolled her eyes in disgust and got up from the Gryffindor table. Mike was in the infirmary ward resting after the effects of a powerful sleeping curse, along with a pretty nasty head wound. Or so she'd been told.

She'd woken up immediately when she heard the scream, and there had been shouting and gunshots downstairs. The Prefect, rightly so, didn't allow anyone downstairs until someone from the Task Force came up and told them it was safe.

When she'd heard Mike was hurt and in the infirmary ward, she'd wanted to go immediately. They told her he would be fine and reiterated that visitors were not allowed in the infirmary until after breakfast. It was painful waiting through breakfast; and listening to Ron get showered in adoration from girls interested in his story was more than she could bear.

It was close enough to the end of breakfast, she figured. She walked the halls, calming herself from the irritation that had been mounting since Ron started getting his attention. It was absolutely ridiculous. Yes, she could concede that he'd been lucky, Black didn't just blindly attack him after all.

It wasn't like he'd heroically fought the man off though. In fact, he'd screamed! Mike...Brad...that sentry…they'd fought. They'd been injured in the defense of the students. So why on e _arth_ was Ron getting _any_ credit?

"Rrah." She couldn't help the vocalization of her frustration. She looked around herself and was happy to see no one around to have heard it. Another minute of walking, trying to calm herself from her stress, and worry, and frustration.

"I just wanted to say 'hi,' we've been friends since first year!" Hermione heard the voice from around the corner as she approached the Infirmary Ward. She slowed a bit, but continued.

"There's still..." the gruffer voice of a sentry most likely, "...thirteen minutes until visiting time." So she was too early as well. She'd made it around the corner in time to see the student huff once and turn to leave. She stood for a moment, then decided to leave as well. She turned but was interrupted. "Miss?"

Hermione turned back toward the sentries, and sure enough one of them was beckoning her towards them. She guessed they weren't keen on people sneaking away from them but wasn't sure. She walked up to them and stood there as the one who'd called her gave an appraising look.

"You're clear, Miss" He stood aside, allowing her access to the door.

"I thought it wasn't visiting time yet." She stood confused for a second. The sentry smiled at her.

"Hermione, right?" he asked. She nodded in affirmation and allowed him to continue. "Mike's a good guy, he'll be glad to see you." He turned back to scanning for threats as if she didn't exist, an obvious ending to the conversation. She decided to roll with it and walked in.

"Well, hey!" The familiar voice, though a little weak, seemed to wash away all of the frustration and ridiculousness of the morning and it left her feeling light again. Then she saw him and her heart sank a little. He was laying in one of the infirmary beds, his eyes still looked really heavy. There was a bandage over his head with the bulk of a dressing over his right eyebrow. _I guess he really did hit his head._

"How are you feeling?" She couldn't help the edge of concern that laced her voice. He looked awful. It looked like he'd never slept before in his life and he seemed to be struggling to stay awake. It must have been a pretty powerful sleeping curse.

"Good, now." He smiled at her as she sat lightly on the side of his bed. He sat there for a moment before suddenly raising a dead arm and thumping her across the back of the head. Somehow, he managed to look mortified and exhausted at the same time and she couldn't help a laugh. "I didn't mean..." he trailed off, but she knew what he meant.

A sleeping curse left all of you sleepy. He wasn't just tired, his whole body was exhausted too. She'd expected him to try and hold her hand or something, and in his physical exhaustion, he just didn't have the motor strength to make that happen.

"I know," she said, putting as much comfort as she could into the words. She grabbed his hand and held it between both of hers in her lap. She smiled at the sight, enjoying being back around him again. It had been a longer morning than she was used to.

She thought it was absurd, how fast he'd become an integral part of her life. She _never_ thought of boys. She was all schoolwork, all the time, and she was happy. Or so she'd thought. Now, one morning without her...boyfriend...the word sounded funny in her mind, one morning without him and she'd been reduced to a ball of angry frustration.

She couldn't help another smile at the thought. She knew Mike would tease her about it when she told him. She opened her mouth to speak, but when she looked back at him, he was asleep. Now though, he had a peaceful look on his face instead of the worried one he'd worn earlier.

* * *

It took a couple days, but everyone fully recovered from the attack. Mike was sporting a small scar where he'd smacked his head against the table. Madam Pomfrey had offered a salve that would reduce or eliminate the scarring, but he'd only quipped that scars looked badass and he wanted the help with his street cred. She'd rolled her eyes, not fully understanding the muggles.

The downside of things after the attack was that Crookshanks, and by extension Hermione, were bordering on enemy of the state level popularity. It was no secret that Scabbers had been eaten by Crookshanks. Ron had seen to that.

The tale of that orange ball of fur latching onto Corporal Malone's face had made its way around the school. Pretty soon rumors were circulating that Hermione's cat was in on things. Among the wilder theories was that Hermione was a devout follower of You-Know-Who and was helping Sirius Black. Another, popular in Slytherin, was that Hermione was bewitching her cat to attack things and become a serial killer. It was just like a muggle-born to snap after all.

The troops did their best to dispel the wild rumors, though it didn't help that everyone who saw Crookshanks gave the cat a dirty look and a wide berth. None of them seriously believed Hermione was a closet Death Eater, but the scratches on Corporal Malone's face became an image hard to forget.

"I think you ought to quit flattering yourself there, buddy." Mike smiled broadly at Ron, who had been recanting the tale of surviving the infamous murderer.

"Flattering?" Ron asked incredulously. "He almost killed me!" He looked around the table for support but found very little. Harry at least had given him a look of part-understanding. Hermione, who was still on frosty terms with Ron, gave no such look. The operators, who had had a discussion on the subject already, also had no huge supply of sympathy.

"Come on, you're telling me that this killer, who spent _years_ in your worst prison and _escaped_ and then hunted Harry for almost the entire year, managed to get into the sleeping quarters and wait all night during a party, just to lose patience and attack the wrong bed?" Mike shook his head. "Not buying it."

"I agree," Brad said, with an air of finality to his voice. "A glance would have given him the right bed. You guys don't even look _a little_ similar." The others nodded their assent.

"So why did he attack me and then run away instead of finding Harry?" Ron seemed to think this disproved the entire train of thought, and in a way it did. No one had a decent answer. Why _would_ Sirius Black stop his attack once started? It's not like the half-awake student was going to stop him. None of it made any sense.

The conversation, which was being held at the lunch table, was cut short when Hedwig came fluttering in next to Harry. The group sat in silence as Harry pulled a note from the bird's foot and gave it an affectionate scratch on the top of the head. Hedwig flew off as Harry opened the note.

"It's from Hagrid," he said as he read the note. "He wants us to come to his shack when we get a chance."

"If memory serves, we should have time after Potions tonight." It was Mike who spoke up, even though he really didn't _have_ class. Still, they agreed and made plans to stop by after the class.

* * *

 _Thump thump thump._ Brad's knuckles rapped against Hagrid's door. It took only a moment, but the large door swung open and revealed the half-giant.

"Righ' abou' time," he beckoned them inside. "Com' in, you lot." Fang's tail was wagging furiously as they entered and Mike immediately knelt down, giving the hound a good scratching behind the ears. They all took places near the kitchen table and waited a moment while Hagrid got settled.

He'd set out a small tray of what appeared to be baked treats, or an attempt at them anyways. They were severely blackened on the edges. It didn't stop Mike from helping himself to one. It crunched rather loudly, discouraging anyone else from making an attempt.

"So, I suppose you wanted to hear about Sirius?" Ron inquired. Mike put his face in his hand while Hermione huffed. Ron had been unbearable about the attack, and while no one else believed that it was the reason for Hagrid's summons, Ron wouldn't hear it.

"Wha'?" asked the giant, with a genuinely confused look on his thickly bearded face. He shook his head after a moment. "O' course not, I 'eard plen'y."

The broadness of Mike's smile was proportional to the deepness of Ron's frown at the revelation that he was in fact _not_ the center of the universe for the coming pow-wow.

"What's the good word, Hagrid?" Brad asked politely. Hagrid sighed.

"Buckbeak's trial...it did'n' go so well." Hagrid stared at his great hands for a moment while the news sank in.

"Seriously?" Mike was the first to break the silence, but certainly not the last.

"Our report didn't cut it? We made it pretty clear that Malfoy instigated it." Brad seemed genuinely confused. He hadn't seriously considered the possibility that Buckbeak would lose the trial.

"They didn' allow it," Hagrid huffed. "Lucius," the word seemed to taste bitter in his mouth, "tha's Draco's da', said tha' muggles got no bus'ness in wizardin' affairs. Ministry bough' it."

"Well, that's some bullshit." Mike said. He sat for a moment longer before giving the great man a comforting pat on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, man." The others murmured in agreement.

"The Ministry's holdin' an appeal," Hagrid said, sniffing loudly. "It'll be here, at Hogwart's. Won'ered if you'd be willn' ter help?"

"Of course," Brad said immediately. It surprised him that Hagrid even felt he needed to ask. There was no way they were letting that little blonde asshole get away with setting up Buckbeak. "Give us the word, we'll be there." Everyone agreed.

"Thanks," Hagrid said. "Well, tha's all I needed ter talk ta you lot abou'." He stood gesturing toward the door before a thoughtful look crossed his face. He pointed a finger at Ron. "Well, 'cept fer you, I need a word with you."

He smirked at the others as they filed out, obviously certain that Hagrid wanted to know about the attack. When the door shut, the group stood there for a moment.

"I need ter talk ta you abou' Hermione," Hagrid said. It was loud enough that they could all hear it. It didn't take them more than a moment to realize that a window was open.

"Oh..." Ron said lamely, "Well, she really-"

"She really needs 'er frien' back, ya great git," Hagrid said, thumping a hand on the table. Hermione blushed and Mike let out a laugh before struggling to stifle it.

"I can't help if she-" Ron started, but Hagrid was having none of it.

"She didn' sic 'er cat on Scabbers. You an' I both know yer rat was old an' tired, long before 'er cat came near. An' you didn' do much to keep yer rat from Crookshank's, le's not forget!" Hagrid sounded firm, serious. None of the jovial edge to his voice that it normally had. Ron was really getting it.

"Well, I-" Ron sputtered, but Hagrid seemed to know he had the boy on the ropes and went in for the finish.

"She's always been a grea' friend ter you, Ron," Hagrid said sharply. "I though' I knew you Weasley lot better 'n tha'," he said. There were a few thumping steps behind the door and it swung open. Hagrid ushered out a stunned looking Ron.

"Thanks fer stoppin' by, an' thanks fer yer help," Hagrid said. They exchanged goodbyes and parted ways. Ron fell back toward Hermione on the way back and Mike sped up, leaving the two of them with a little privacy.

"Look, I'm sorry," Ron said, watching his feet as he walked. "I-"

"It's alright, I'm sorry about Scabbers," Hermione said, not wanting to listen to Ron struggle anymore. It was enough for her that he was taking the first step. They caught up to the rest of the gang and headed back to the common room for the night.

* * *

Later that night, Harry lay in bed awake. There wasn't any real reason for it, not one he could think of anyway. He felt bad for Hagrid. Buckbeak too, to an extent, but mostly Hagrid. The Hippogriff was a really neat creature, and riding it had been nothing short of exhilarating. Terrifying and exhilarating.

Hagrid though, would always be someone close to Harry. He'd been Harry's first step into the world of witches and wizards. Never once did he have an inkling that he had magic in him, and Hagrid cleared that right up. Not just that, but the half-giant had always been there to support Harry.

He was a truly kindhearted person, someone you could count on to have your back. It seemed that the great man had an equally large heart when it came to animals as well, loving them more than anyone Harry had ever met. Any creature under Hagrid's charge was sure to have a wonderful life, and it made him happy that Hagrid had the job of Gamekeeper.

It cut Hagrid deeply that someone had been hurt in his class, even a slime-ball like Malfoy. What hurt him more, however, was his inability to protect the Hippogriff. Hagrid was taking it hard, and Harry was determined to do what he could to help. Not just for Buckbeak, but for the man who had done so much for him already.

It made him feel a little better that the others saw it the same way too. Not just Ron and Hermione, but the operators. They weren't watching closely for Hagrid to fail like so many others, and so they were able to see the truth. They paid attention and watched Malfoy instigate the animal. That they were all willing to step forward and defend the Hippogriff did a lot to ease his heart.

Harry looked at the clock. Just a few minutes past midnight. He still really didn't feel tired. It was going to make for a long day tomorrow if he didn't get any sleep. Closing his eyes, he tried to relax. It was quiet for a long moment, relaxing.

"Hngdggghhhh-Pppwwwww," Ron snored loudly from his bed next to Harry's, snapping Harry from his relaxation.

Harry sighed and sat up, grabbing his map. He'd once watched more than one student get caught by prefects and staff during the night.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he whispered, tapping his wand on the parchment. It revealed the map, and he studied it for a moment. He saw that Percy was walking along the first floor, doing one of his patrols. The Prefects weren't obligated to do their patrols this year, since the soldiers were handling that particular task. Percy took it as his duty, however, and refused to shirk the responsibility.

He found a name wandering near the Great Hall. _Cowen Fergus_ was walking toward the hall, probably looking for a late-night snack. He'd never heard the name before, but he found it amusing to watch as _Minerva McGonagall_ walked slowly from behind, the two names stopped moving for a minute, and then moved quickly and closely to the Slytherin dungeon. He imagined that the next morning he would see Slytherin down by several points. He studied the map for a moment longer, not seeing anyone else wandering the corridors. He started to close the map when he noticed a name skirting along the second-floor corridor.

 _Peter Pettigrew,_ it said. How was that possible? He was dead. He wondered for a moment if he'd also had a child, one that had the same name and went to Hogwarts. It would make sense that they would be in his year. But he'd never heard the name during the Sorting…

He removed the covers and stood up, stepping into a pair of slippers and snatching his father's cloak. He wrapped himself in it and headed downstairs, sneaking past the sleeping operators in their various couches and chairs. He left a pair of puzzled sentries outside the common room as the portrait opened but no one was around.

Downstairs, he walked slowly, using the tip of his wand to keep the cloak away from his face so he could keep an eye on the map. According to it, this Peter Pettigrew was just down the hall and to the right, in a little alcove.

 _Squeak!_ The sound came from the area the map was indicating and it made his heart hammer. He tried to free his wand from beneath the cloak, in case he needed to use it, but it was causing the map to wrinkle and getting in the way. He sighed briefly, deciding to shed the cloak. He was confident that if it came down to it, he could hold his own. His sparring lessons with Brad had been improving and he was the best Defense Against the Dark Arts student in his year.

He slid the cloak off, stuffing it behind a suit of armor in the hallway. _Squeak!_ He was closer to the nook now, the light from his wand just starting to illuminate the hall in front of it.

"Ah!" he yelped as something knocked into his leg. He saw a flash of orange shoot past him, though it didn't take long to identify the culprit. Crookshanks darted toward the little alcove, then turned sharply back toward the hall as though chasing something. It only took a second for the cat to disappear into the darkness of the hallway beyond.

Harry bit his lip, knowing deep in his gut he'd made a mistake. He shouldn't have let the surprise escape his lips, damn it. He glanced at the map and felt a moment of confusion. Peter Pettigrew's name was quickly moving along down the corridor away from him. Harry was certain he hadn't seen anyone. Crookshanks gave him a start, but the only way into the hall had been illuminated by Harry's wand. No one was there.

Harry felt a painful adrenaline rush as he noticed something he hadn't before, as he was too focused on Peter's name. Severus Snape was very rapidly approaching him, no doubt in response to his little yelp. _Shit._ Harry was too far from his cloak to reach it in time.

"Mischief managed," he tapped the parchment, then stuffed it in his back pocket. "Nox." The light at the tip of his wand went out. Harry put his wand in another pocket and started walking slowly back to the common room. He'd almost made it to the stairs before being intercepted.

"Mr. Potter," Snape appeared out of the darkness, his wand lighting silently. Harry jumped, not expecting the professor to be so close. "Out for a late-night stroll?" he drawled, eyeing Harry suspiciously.

"Sir," was all Harry could manage. Damn it all, he should have had _some_ kind of excuse lined up. It wasn't like he could tell Snape about the Peter person without revealing the map. He wasn't even sure Peter was a person. Harry definitely hadn't seen anyone in the hall, perhaps it had some faults.

"Why the guilty look, Potter?" Snape asked, his wand still shining brightly in Harry's face. It was almost enough to make his eyes ache. "You've broken enough rules by now you should be numb to the guilt."

"I was just-" Harry started, but was immediately cut short by Snape.

" _You were just_ out in the hall after hours..." Snape eyed him sharply. "Ten points for Gryffindor. Turn out your pockets." Harry couldn't help the look of surprise on his face. He hadn't expected that. "Now!"

Harry pulled the map from his back pocket and the wand from his front. They were the only two items on him at that point, his cloak safe behind a suit of armor just down the hall. He didn't hand either over at once, which Snape seemed to resent. He snatched the map out of Harry's hand.

"What have we here?" Snape asked, opening and eyeing the empty, obviously worn parchment.

"A piece of parchment, sir." Harry tried his best to sound sincere and polite. If it worked, Snape wasn't showing it.

"Of course," he replied. "A ratty piece of parchment that you like to carry around after hours..." Snape seemed to mull it over. "Perhaps it would be best if I just destroyed it."

"No!" Harry exclaimed, immediately regretting the knee-jerk reaction. Snape smiled crookedly.

"So, it isn't just a ratty parchment..." He looked down at the map and pointed his wand at it. "Reveal yourself," he said. Nothing happened. "Severus Snape, Professor of this school commands you to reveal your secrets!"

As though by an invisible hand, words began to appear on the parchment. At first, Harry thought the map was forming. It turned out not to be so.

 _Mr. Moony presents his compliments to Professor Snape and begs the Professor to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people's business._

"What is the meaning of this?" Snape asked icily. Harry didn't move, he was completely confused by the turn of events. He'd recognized the name as one of the Marauder's whose name adorned the map each time he activated it, but he'd never seen it talk to anyone.

 _Mr. Prongs agrees with Mr. Moony and would like to add that Professor Snape is an ugly git._

Snape stared as more and more words appeared slowly on the parchment. Harry didn't move a muscle. He'd be tempted to laugh if he wasn't so mortified. Certainly, Snape would blame Harry for the words.

 _Mr. P_ _adfoot_ _would like to express his astonishment that an idiot like the Professor ever managed to get the job in the first place._

 _Mr. Wormtail bids the Professor a good day and advises the Professor to wash his hair, the slimeball._

"How did you come by this." Snape asked the question slowly, evenly, never taking his eyes off of the parchment.

"I found it," Harry said automatically. Like hell he was going to get the twins in trouble. Before the Professor could interject, Harry continued with the first thing he could think of. "The corner was sticking out from behind a painting in the boy's dormitory."

"We will see about that-" Snape started, but another voice interrupted before he could finish the thought.

"Professor, Harry, everything alright?" Professor Lupin's sickly face looked slightly worse in the dark, illuminated by the bright wand that Snape was holding up. The shadows cast across the man's face were unsettling, and yet Harry had never been happier to see another person.

"What luck," Snape drawled as he gave Lupin a glare. Snape held the paper up for Lupin to take. "I caught Harry sneaking around after hours, and with this rather curious parchment. Perhaps you can enlighten me, it appears to be full of dark magic."

 _Dark magic?_ There was no way a few insults could be construed as dark magic. He couldn't possibly pin the use of dark magic on Harry…

"Dark magic?" Lupin mirrored Harry's thoughts aloud. "Hardly. It looks like a prank enchantment of some sort, a rather good one I think, probably from a joke sho-"

"Such a complex, _good_ , prank parchment..." Snape cut him off coldly. "You don't think it more likely he got it directly from the manufacturer?" The comment confused Harry, but he said nothing. He didn't figure anything he said could help him right now.

"That seems-" Lupin started, looking like he wasn't quite sure what to say next. He was cut off by a sharp voice from the second-floor corridor.

"Professor Snape, I really must-" Professor McGonagall stopped short when she noticed Professor Lupin and Harry as well. She eyed Harry suspiciously. "Mr. Potter, might I ask why _you_ are out of bed?"

"I-" Harry started, but was cut short by Lupin.

"He was attending a private lesson with me," Lupin didn't bat an eye at Harry, just stayed focused on McGonagall. "We have been working on Patronus charms. As I am sure you saw recently, he's doing quite well."

"You might do well to try and find a different time for these lessons," McGonagall said. "Students need sleep as well." She shifted her gaze to Professor Snape. "On that note, you will be wanting to talk to Mr. Cowen Fergus. I caught him trying to get food out of the great hall..." She turned back to Harry and Lupin. "Well, off to bed with you!"

"Good night Professors," Harry said, turning quickly and heading up the stairs. He heard Lupin excuse himself and then follow Harry. A quick glance back and he caught Professor McGonagall leading Snape back toward the dungeon to deal with the poor first year, and Professor Lupin directly behind him. "Thank you, Pro-"

"I don't want your thanks and I don't want your excuses," Lupin said curtly, stopping Harry in his tracks. Now that he looked closely, the Professor looked livid. "I happen to know this map was confiscated by Mr. Filch many years ago, and yes I know it is a map. I don't want to know how it came into your possession. I am, however, _astounded_ that you did not turn it in, especially considering what happened the last time someone left information lying about the castle. I can't let you have this back, Harry."

Harry hadn't expected Lupin to give it back and the questions swimming around his brain were too much for him to leave alone. "Why did Professor Snape think I got it from the manufacturers?"

"Because," he started hesitantly. "These manufacturers would want to use it to lure you out of the school. They'd find it very entertaining."

"You _knew_ them!?" Harry asked incredulously. That might explain why Snape was so suspicious.

"I did," Lupin said, looking at Harry gravely. "Do not expect me to cover up for you again. I cannot force you to take the threat of Sirius Black seriously, but I would have thought that the presence of dementors in Hogsmeade and the soldiers here would have proven to you how serious it is. Your parents died to protect you and it is a poor way to repay their sacrifice, gambling with your life like this."

"I'm sorry, Professor." Harry said sullenly.

"It isn't me you should be sorry to," Lupin replied, hammering the sinking feeling a little deeper.

"I think the map is broken, anyways." Harry figured it was worth mentioning, since the Professor was keeping it. "It showed a student in the hall, a Peter Pettigrew. I didn't see him there where it said he was."

"You're certain that was the name?" Lupin asked, a poorly covered look of shock on his face.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I didn't see him though."

"Go get some rest, Harry." Lupin said, turning and heading down the stairs. Harry watched for a moment, then headed back upstairs to the Gryffindor Tower.


	24. Gryffindor vs Slytherin

AN - Thank you to DullReign82 for your reviews, I am glad you're enjoying. Guest, I hope that this is suitable! Enjoy, and as always, please feel free to review.

* * *

"Boys, welcome!" Mike greeted the quartet cheerfully as they entered the room. "Wands in the bucket." Mike waived them forward, indicating the bucket on a table in the front of the classroom.

"Glad you could all make it," Brad smiled at the four Slytherin boys who had caused such a ruckus during the last Quidditch game. None of the four shared the enthusiasm of the operators, being that this was a night of detention. With direct approval of the Headmaster, the operators had control of the boys from nightfall to daybreak.

"We didn't really get a choice," Malfoy said with a little spite in his voice.

"You had all the choice in the world, little fella," Jason said, patting the blonde-haired boy on his head and messing up his slicked back hair. Jason was easily a head taller and was significantly more muscular. Thankfully, the boy wasn't stupid enough to do anything more than scowl at the mussing of his hair. "No one made you disrupt the game and pretend you were dementors."

"Yeah, don't ya want to be a man?" Mike asked, a big grin on his face as he eyed each of the now wandless boys. "Men accept the consequences of their actions."

"Alright," Brad said, patting a pile of clothes next to him on the table. There were three other sets, each a mishmash of clashing colors. "You boys are dressed inappropriately for the tasks at hand tonight...thankfully we have some clothes for you. Grab a set and get changed." Brad took a step back from the table, inviting them to come pick clothes.

"Oh?" Malfoy asked. The other three eyed him questioningly. Crabbe and Goyle appeared not to want to rock the boat, and Marcus Flint was staying quiet as well. "I think my robes are just fine compared to these." Malfoy held up an over-sized, bright orange shirt and a pair of equally baggy looking pink pants.

"You wanna go there?" Brad asked. There was no edge to his voice, but the invitation to defy him was as obvious a trap as anyone had seen. Well, anyone but Malfoy.

"What's wrong with the robes?" Malfoy seemed to think that this train of logic was infallible.

"Jason, would you show this young fella what is wrong with his robes?" Brad gestured toward Malfoy. Jason, who was standing directly behind the Slytherin boy, wasted no time grabbing a couple handfuls of the robes and wrenching them apart in opposite directions. There was a loud tearing sound and suddenly there was a draft in the back of Malfoy's robes.

"There is a hole in your robes," Brad said. Malfoy was completely red in the face, but Brad switched focus to the other three boys. "Anyone else want their robes checked for malfunctions?" There was a chorus of no as the boys each grabbed a pile of clothes. The operators gave the boys a little privacy to change and soon each of them were clad in over-sized, mismatched clothing.

"Excellent." Brad looked each of them over, a satisfied look on his face. It was very obvious that each of them felt very uncomfortable with their apparel. "Now, as you well know my unit is tasked with keeping this school safe. Since you have elected to join us tonight, you will be helping us keep this castle secure. Follow me."

Brad lead the unhappy quartet out of the classroom, up the staircase to the top level, and down the hall to another class. Inside there was a table with four spoons on it and several buckets of sand.

"One thing we can't get enough of are sandbags. We are lacking in hearty individuals that are up to this task, so each of you will grab a spoon, fill it with sand, and bring it downstairs to your bag so that you can fill it up. Eric will help you secure the bag once it is full, Jason will be up here making sure you use the equipment provided, and Mike and I will be making sure we aren't taking our time. We wouldn't want to put the school's safety at risk after all...any questions?"

"Yeah," Malfoy started almost immediately. Brad knew if anyone was going to speak up, it would be him. "Why don't we bring the bucket downstairs? Why one spoon at a time? And we are _wizards,_ we could fill them with magic? This is a huge waste of ti-" Malfoy was cut off by Brad, who closed the distance between them extremely fast.

"NO!" he bellowed in the boy's face, cowering him immediately, " _A waste of time_ is plotting a poorly thought out prank that could have gotten someone killed. _A waste of time_ is keeping my team up all night babysitting a bunch of pissant wannabe big boys who think that knowing magic makes them somehow superior! _A waste of time_ is standing here explaining why you don't know your ass from your elbow! Get a fucking spoon and get started!" Brad punctuated his last shout by pulling out and extending an ASP baton with a mean sounding _click._ He was almost red in the face by the end of his rant and Malfoy was bent backwards an uncomfortable degree trying to get away from Brad.

The rest of the boys didn't need telling twice, they moved quickly to the spoons, each grabbing one and scooping a teaspoon of sand from the nearest bucket. Mike and Brad stayed close in tow, prodding stragglers with their batons and keeping them moving up and down the stairs for several hours.

* * *

It was almost two in the morning when Crabbe, Goyle, and Marcus had finished their bags. Malfoy, as it turned out, was among the least physically fit out of all of them. Several times, he stumbled on the stairs and dumped his teaspoon of sand. Once even, he slipped in a small pile of his own spilled sand.

He'd tried his hardest during the fall to get out of the rest of the detention, going so far as to summon tears. The operators were having none of it and finally Brad redeployed the baton. Its hostile _click_ was enough to send the message that he would not be escaping detention.

The operators, who were also feeling the many trips up and down the staircase, weren't about to let the three boys who finished first get off easy. Brad ordered them to keep pace with Malfoy and encourage him to keep going and do better. Any time one of them stopped offering encouragement, they got a prod from a baton.

Brad found himself struggling not to laugh multiple time throughout at lame, less-than-heartfelt shouts of encouragement.

"You've got this, Malfoy!"

"Come on, you can do it!"

"Don't stop, go, go, GO!"

Hell, at that point his own classmates were doing half the work for him. They were keeping pace and making sure he didn't fuck it up, because they were tired of running up and down the stairs. Malfoy knew that they didn't mean the encouragement because they wanted him to succeed, but because they wanted to stop being punished for _his_ mess-ups.

It only took another half an hour, but finally it was done.

"Merlin," Malfoy sighed, getting his weight off of his nearly gelatinous legs by sitting in a chair. He had barely a moment of time in the chair before Jason had closed the distance and kicked one of the rear legs clean off, sending the boy toppling backwards. "Wha-" he yelped.

"Did you forget this is a punishment?" Jason asked the boy as he lay on the ground. Malfoy scowled up at Jason, who grabbed him by the shoulders and picked him up, leaving him standing upright again. Marcus, who was in the middle of trying to take a seat himself, heaved himself back up before his rear even grazed the chair. "You sit when we tell you to sit, and not a moment sooner."

"Oi, you tellin' me we ain't even done yet?" Crabbe asked aloud.

"Done?" Brad shook his head in disbelief. "You lazy assholes took over half the night filling up four sandbags, you'll be lucky if I don't bring you back again tomorrow night to do some _actual_ work."

"Oughhh," Marcus sighed in defeat, clearly opposed to the idea of coming back to do this again. The other boys held similar looks.

"Well, pair off. One person gets a broom, the other a dustpan," Brad said, gesturing toward a corner of the room stocked with cleaning supplies. They were hilariously small, and the boys looked at them in disbelief. "They're designed for the house elves. When they came by to clean up the mess you guys made on the stairs, I volunteered you to pick up after yourselves. Crabbe, Goyle, you two start at the bottom of the stairs and work your way up. Malfoy and Flint, start from up top at the sand room. I don't want to see even one grain of sand on these stairs."

So the work went on for the next several hours. It didn't take long before the boys were visited by all manner of aches and pains from the stoops and bends, using their tiny brooms and dustpans to clean each step and then dumping their picked-up bits of sand and debris into a sack they were stuck carrying.

It was about a half hour until breakfast when they finally met, Crabbe and Goyle covering almost two thirds of the stairs while Malfoy and Flint had an unmistakably heavier sand and debris bag, most of the errors having been made at or near the top of the stairs.

"Alright boys, let's go. The equipment needs to be returned to the house elves. We will take the Great Hall route. Same goes for these bags of trash, get 'em picked up and get a move on. You do not want to take your time!" Brad hollered at them. "And bring your sandbags!"

They each picked up their filled sandbag, then one grabbed their miniature broom and dustpan while the other carried their bag of debris, then headed through the corridors. They walked with great difficulty, their muscles tested to their max over an exhausting night of running up and down stairs. Not one of them could successfully pick up their feet all the way when taking a step, preferring to drag their feet along the ground.

Brad neglected to mention that it was so close to breakfast time. If they'd been moving along at a reasonable pace, then they could have made it through the Great Hall without incident. As it stood however, their pace made it impossible to beat the breakfast rush.

"What are they _wearing!?"_ one first year girl exclaimed as they neared the Great Hall. Only then did the four Slytherin boys remember that they'd been forced to wear oversized, poorly matched clothes, and that other students existed. They turned beet red as more and more people saw them, and the whispers got louder.

"I told you that you didn't want to take your time," Brad chimed in as they made it through the Great Hall. There was open laughter when Goyle stopped moving for a second to gawk at the food on one of the tables, tripping Malfoy who wasn't paying attention. Malfoy dumped his bag of dirt and sand on the floor in front of him, landing in it.

The operators sorted it out quickly, picking Malfoy off of the ground and directing the quartet to get to sweeping and cleaning. The outbursts of laughter gave way to murmurs that lay somewhere between sympathy and a general "saw-that-coming" attitude. After a few minutes, the pile was cleaned and the group was through the Great Hall.

They made it to one of the small rooms nearby, where a crew of house elves were working on gathering garbage together in one place.

"Give the supplies to our...brightly dressed friend here," Brad said, indicating an enthusiastic looking elf who was dressed in a way that made the Slytherin boys look ready for a formal event. "Trash and sandbags in the bin," Brad finished.

"What?!" Malfoy asked, incredulously. Putting sandbags, that had taken them all night to fill, into the trash seemed absurd. After all of the effort put into it…

"Oh, I had the quartermaster do inventory on our sandbag supply..." Brad said as though it was routine. "We were in surplus by four, no sense taking up valuable space with extra sandbags, you know?"

Malfoy and the others stared at the operator with their mouths hanging open in a sleep deprived, dazed shock.

"You're dismissed," Brad said, waving them off. "And I do hope not to have to repeat this exercise with any of you...I assure you it can get _much_ more unpleasant." He left it at that, leading his troops out of the room, leaving the stunned, exhausted boys still standing there.

* * *

"That's bloody devious, that is!" Ron exclaimed, earning a smack across the back of the head from Hermione and a glare from Madam Pince, who had already had occasion to remind him to be quiet twice so far. Nevertheless, Harry and Hermione were both smiling at the retelling of the nights events for a certain four Slytherin boys who had made quite a stir that morning at breakfast.

"Yeah, they weren't too fond of that," Brad said.

"I'd think not, after spending all night working on them," Ron replied in admiration.

The group was sitting in the library, working on their promise to Hagrid. After the things they'd collected for the trial, the group hadn't anticipated Buckbeak losing the trial. From the sound of things, the political clout of Lucius Malfoy had a pretty large part in the outcome in the trial.

The four operators were planning on attending the appeal being held in two weeks, giving their account in person. The summons to Hagrid's hut wasn't the only time it was mentioned. Hagrid had approached Dumbledore about the situation as well. Dumbledore agreed to push for allowing the muggle soldiers to take part in the trial, but due to his position as Headmaster, he could not directly help.

Brad wasn't holding his breath about the appeal, but he kept that to himself. Corruption was a pain to deal with, and Lucius Malfoy had a lot more clout than he should. Brad wasn't even sure what the man did for a living, but damn it all if he didn't have the Minister's ear.

Hermione and Mike were continuing to search through past beast trials, looking for anything that might help. They'd poured over all of this before, when they were first coming up with a defense for Buckbeak. As near as Brad could figure, it made Hermione feel helpful. Research was her forte. And Mike was going to follow her wherever. He seemed to have it bad for her.

"Why didn't we use this last time?" Hermione whispered excitedly. "Here, a Hippogriff was tried for attacking the son of a foreign minister and won the trial."

"In 1749, right?" Mike asked. Hermione looked up at him, shocked that he'd known that. "It was the Prime Minister's Hippogriff, remember? They called a mistrial and the Hippogriff was executed right after..."

"Oh," she sighed, remembering the conversation from last time. "That's right." She started reading again, looking for any scrap of information that could help.

"There you are!" a first year Gryffindor student called out loudly, earning a cringe from everyone at the table and the ire of Madam Pince.

"Quiet down, this is a _library_!" she called out from her office. Thankfully she wasn't one to come running out after them when they spoke up.

"Best keep it down in here," Ron greeted the first year.

"Harry, Oliver has been looking for you. He wants me to tell you that practice is daily for the Slytherin match next week." She seemed to be in awe, staring openly at the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Yo," Mike nudged the first year, drawing his attention. "His eyes are down there," Mike gestured toward Harry's face, and the group tried to hide their smirks.

"Right," she blushed deeply, dropping her gaze to the floor. Hermione elbowed Mike in the ribs for embarrassing the poor girl, though she too was fighting off a smile.

"Thank you," Hermione said a little more compassionately. Harry nodded his agreement, and the first year turned on her heels and left rapidly. "You didn't have to embarrass the poor girl!" She tried to sound angry, but his goofy grin kept the smile on her face and she failed miserably.

"She was gawking," Mike said earnestly. "Nobody likes a gawker."

"You ready to put some hurt on Slytherin?" Brad asked, changing the subject. Daily practice was going to be rough with exams coming up.

"Yeah, I think it'll be good to show 'em up," Harry said.

"Alright, lets get back to-" Hermione started, but was interrupted by a shrill voice.

"Quiet!" Madam Pince called again. The group rolled their eyes and got back to the research.

* * *

Harry rolled over, punching his pillow into more of a ball, and tried to get comfortable. It had been a longer night than he'd hoped for. The match against Slytherin was tomorrow... _today,_ he corrected himself. He knew it had to be early in the morning by now.

What a week it had been. Oliver had promised daily practice, but after an abysmal performance by the chasers during that first practice, Oliver opted for twice a day. In addition, he was trying to study for his upcoming exams.

He wanted to rub Slytherins ugly little nose in it, to crush them in the match, but he also knew it would be a relief to have the match done and over with. He'd have all of two days after the match before exams started and he felt woefully unprepared.

Hermione was helping him study of course, but he never felt the same grasp of information that she had. She seemed to absorb information like a sponge, just soaking it in wherever it was. He was an adept student, when he put his mind to it. It felt like there were more important things to do than study, however.

What good was an Outstanding in Transfiguration when the embodiment of evil was trying to steal something to get his body back? What good was a passing grade in potions when a giant serpent was trying to kill students? How do you spend time on homework when a savage murderer is hunting you?

"Alright!" Ron shouted, getting fits of surprise from the rest of the boys in the dorm. More than one pillow was hurled at the redhead, who fought them off heartily. "Let's stomp Slytherin!"

"Woo!" Seamus shouted in agreement. "We'll eat those snakes for breakfast!"

"Let's get breakfast!" another boy shouted, causing laughter throughout the dorm.

 _So much for sleep,_ Harry thought to himself, sitting up. He rubbed his blurry eyes and put his glasses on. The rest of the boys were getting dressed, so he did the same.

"You ready to do this thing?" It was Lee Jordan, the commentator for all of the school Quidditch matches. He was hilariously distractible and was not remotely impartial, but no one else wanted the job so far, so he kept on going.

"Yeah, I reckon so," Harry replied, adjusting his robes to a more comfortable fit.

"Don't worry, Harry, no one is getting near you. No repeats of that sabotage," Fred called out, getting nods and shouts of agreement from the rest of the Gryffindor students. They'd been livid after the attempt by Slytherin at the last game, and the general scuffles in the halls were not helping matters. Lately, someone from the Quidditch team was always with Harry, along with his operators. Harry mused that this was what a head of state must feel like.

Downstairs, the operators were all up and ready to go. Harry wondered if they were always up early, but it was more likely that they'd woken to the shouts and hollers from the Gryffindor students.

They walked in a large group to the Great Hall for breakfast and, while they were the first ones there, it didn't last long. The rest of the school trickled in throughout breakfast. It was time for the Quidditch Cup's final game this afternoon, and the entire school was excited.

It'd been a sort of controlled loud, with animated conversations at all of the tables. Then someone said the word _Firebolt_ and everybody at the Gryffindor table started a cheer. Slytherin responded in kind with one of their house cheers. The back and forth went on, getting louder and louder until some of the security teams got involved, telling everyone to save it for the field. The last thing that was needed was a food fight or riot.

After breakfast, it was time for some light warm-ups. The operators attended their briefing, outlining who would be where and with what equipment. The security presence was going to be heavy, and while everyone was at the game, the school was going to be locked down. A full fireteam would be at each entrance and patrols roaming throughout, while there would be almost double the presence at the game. Not one member of the task force would be off-duty during the game.

Meanwhile, Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team were out riding and doing light exercises on their brooms. Nothing particularly energetic, that was all being saved for the game. They wanted to work enough to get their blood flowing and be ready to go.

These exercises went on until 1130 hrs, when Wood called them all down to the pitch. The game would start in an hour, so it was time to try to relax while they got everything set up. Meanwhile, Wood started in on his pre-game speech.

"This is it, ladies and gentlemen!" he called out in the locker room. They were already dressed in their uniforms, brooms ready to go. "The Quidditch Cup can be ours! We all know Slytherin is gonna play dirty, and they're gonna pay for it in penalties. We just need to focus and do it right, keep Harry open to getting the Snitch. We can have this thing!" He pumped his fist in the air, eliciting a cheer from the Gryffindor team.

They were expecting the Slytherin team to cheat and play dirty. It was their way, and everyone knew it. Wood was right, it was a matter of working hard and playing it safe.

"Gryffi-" Lee Jordan's booming voice was drowned out by the cheering from outside. Harry realized, with a start, that it was time for the game. They'd been so focused on Wood's speech, for once, that they weren't waiting for the call out. They rushed outside to see the Slytherin team on the pitch already, looking smug.

The chants of the crowd were, again, making it hard for Harry to hear anything. He watched as Wood met Marcus Flint in the middle of the field for a handshake. It went on for a second longer than normal, Marcus holding tight and trying to inflict some damage. Madam Hooch smacked him upside the head, breaking the grip, and the two captains returned to their sides of the field.

A high-pitched whistle, and Harry kicked up hard, the game starting in earnest. He saw Katie Bell snag the Quaffle and streak toward the opposing end. His eyes darted around the field, looking for that telling glint of gold.

Harry jerked his broom to the right and soared down, a Bludger missing his head by a hair. Starting off strong, it would seem.

"IT'S A SCORE," Lee Jordan boomed out, "TEN POINTS FOR GRYFFINDOR!" That would work.

Harry watched on as Gryffindor brought its A game. The chasers had taken the initiative and were keeping it in check, the beaters keeping the Slytherin team at bay, and Wood bringing a strong defensive game to anything that got through to the goals.

Slytherin repeatedly broke the rules. One of the chasers grabbed Katie Bell by the head, causing her to drop the Quaffle. A beater kept targeting Wood, trying to knock the Keeper out of the game. Thankfully, Madam Hooch was paying close attention and caught almost every instance of rule breaking. It was costing Slytherin dearly, as Gryffindor was up 80-10.

Finally, Harry saw it. A glint of gold in the distance and he streaked down at it. He had to dodge another Bludger but he was closing in on it. He started to reach out-

He felt the broom kick under him, and a glance behind him told him everything. Malfoy, who couldn't keep up, had grabbed the end of his broom, stunting him. Malfoy couldn't hold the grip and let go, but the damage was done. Harry couldn't find the Snitch again.

"THAT DIRTY, CHEATING-" Lee cut himself off, not risking the ire of McGonagall. Harry scowled in frustration but darted away, not wanting to stick near the Slytherin Seeker.

There was a deeper struggle, back and forth. The penalties were adding up, but the pressure on Wood was getting to him too. The score was 110-50, still a long way from Slytherin being up, but mistakes were being made.

Angelina had the Quaffle and was soaring toward the goals and the entire Slytherin team was getting in the way. Harry was tired of seeing them play dirty and decided to give them a little taste. He pushed his broom as fast as he could, shooting ahead of Angelina and straight at them. They panicked and broke off from his onslaught, clearing the path for Angelina, who shot and scored.

Harry spun around triumphantly, getting a large grin from Angelina. He glanced around the pitch and felt his heart drop. There was Malfoy, skimming along the bottom of the pitch, chasing a small golden glint. Harry pushed his broom as hard as he could, closing the distance fast. It didn't look fast enough.

Malfoy swiped at the Snitch, missing it by a finger-width. The snitch darted to the right and Malfoy followed, a little sluggishly. Harry pushed as hard as he could to catch up, and was just about there when Malfoy took another swipe.

The Snitch darted to the left just in time and Malfoy missed again. The Slytherin Seeker turned, following the Snitch. This time, Harry was close enough to intervene. Malfoy reached out and Harry threw an elbow into the meaty part of Malfoy's arm, knowing from experience sparring with Brad that it was a spot that hurt like hell. Malfoy jerked away, opening the path to Harry, who plucked the Snitch out of the sky.

The crowd roared so loud that Harry didn't hear Madam Hooch blow her whistle, signaling the end of the game. It didn't matter though. The players were heading toward their sides of the field, Gryffindor celebrating loudly and Slytherin sulking.

The rest of the day was a party the likes of which Gryffindor had not seen in years, even putting their last one to shame. The entire house celebrated, taking time away from studying and anything else that might have been going on. They'd finally won the cup again and no holds were barred as they reveled in the victory.


	25. The Appeal

AN - Can't believe we reached 16k views. Thanks again everyone! Feel free to leave reviews on what you like and don't like.

* * *

Brad, Mike, Jason, Eric, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco Malfoy all sat outside the Headmaster's office, waiting quietly. Minister Fudge and Mcnair were inside with Hagrid already, the appeals process having been started with Headmaster Dumbledore as witness.

Dumbledore had already spoken to Fudge about letting _all_ witness testify. Fudge sputtered a bit, but without Lucius there to argue the point, he relented. Fudge was reading the charges to Hagrid, who was considered the custodian of Buckbeak. After that was done, the group would be lead in and the actual appeals process would begin.

It stayed silent in the room, not just due to nerves about testifying, but tension since Draco was there. The boy wisely kept quiet, and the others didn't want to start any drama, so they did the same.

Brad knew that the Gryffindor celebration at winning the House Cup was short-lived. Exams had been so close around the corner that they'd needed to get back to studying right away. The previous day the last of the exams were completed. All that was left was figuring out grades,+ a process that took a couple days due to the quantity of material that needed grading. There were a lot of students at Hogwarts these days.

The school year had passed quickly. Brad could hardly believe it was almost over. He idly wondered what it would be like, having the summer off. _What do you even do_? He tried to imagine himself in civilian clothes, sleeping in a bit and…his mind went blank. He had no idea where he'd begin.

"Enter," a deep voice called from the apparently now-open door. Mcnair, Fudge's assistant in this appeal and the executioner should it fail, was standing in the doorway and beckoning them in. They complied silently, each taking a seat. Once everyone was settled, Fudge started.

"Right, so this appeal, called for by Rubeus Hagrid, in regards to the trial and sentencing of the hippogriff called Buckbeak, shall begin. Mr. Malfoy, as you are the injured party, would you please tell us what happened." Fudge beckoned the boy forward. "And, who will be conducting the cross examination?"

The room was silent for a moment. None of them had been part of an appeals process before, and thus none of them knew that they needed someone for that particular task. Just a moment after things started to get uncomfortably quiet, Brad stood up.

"That would be me, Sir," he replied. Fudge eyed him suspiciously as the rest of the group turned to look at the operator, but he ignored it. Hagrid wouldn't be up to the task. No offense to the gentle giant, but he was much too kindhearted and a little dim to be a lawyer. Harry and Ron were too personally anti-Malfoy to stand a great chance at success, and Hermione, though book-smart, wasn't as aggressive as he figured necessary. That left him, as leader of the rest of the team, to take the role.

"Right..." Fudge looked around for any argument, and since he got none, decided to carry on. "Mr. Malfoy, in your own words, please describe the events of that day."

"Okay, sir," Malfoy said in an overly sullen tone. "Professor Hagrid told us we would be dealing with hippogriffs and that we should take turns approaching them. Potter went first and rode the creature and it was kind of hyper when it got back. The Professor insisted it was safe for me to approach though, so I did. I tried to bow and it attacked me, almost killed me..."

Fudge waited for a moment to see if there was any more to add. When Malfoy didn't speak up, he turned to Brad expectantly.

"To confirm, Sir," Brad said to Fudge, "Lying is not allowed up there?" Fudge looked at Brad with an almost awestruck face.

"Well, of course not!" Fudge exclaimed.

"Yes, Sir," he replied. "Just double-checking." Brad paused a moment, buying himself a little time to think. He knew for a fact that Malfoy had caused the incident. He also knew that Malfoy was not used to being challenged. That was hopefully something that could be exploited.

"What can you tell me about the personality of a hippogriff?" Brad asked. Malfoy looked at him, puzzled by the strange question. Fudge waited patiently, so Malfoy answered.

"I...er...I mean they are supposed to be really prideful," Malfoy answered, a little ungracefully. Brad noted that he was on edge, and wondered how much of it was due to the unpleasant experience of filling sandbags for a night.

"Really prideful," Brad repeated. "So, that's why you bowed?"

"Yes," Malfoy said cautiously. The boy couldn't tell where Brad was taking things and it was obviously making him uneasy.

"How prideful is a hippogriff?" he asked. Malfoy shrugged a bit, so Brad turned to Hagrid. "Care to comment?"

"They're righ' prideful, they are." Hagrid shook his head enthusiastically, glad for any chance he could take to help Buckbeak. "I tol' 'em, don' insult a hippogriff, it'll be the last thing yeh do!"

"Thank you, Hagrid," Fudge put in quickly, not wanting the man to go on another long-winded rant. He'd had enough of that during the actual trial. "Continue," Fudge said to Brad.

"So, when you approached Buckbeak, what did you say?" Brad asked. Malfoy shrugged.

"I don't remember," he said, just the hint of a smirk on his face.

"Didn't you call it an ugly beast?" Brad asked seriously, stepping closer to Malfoy. There was a look of shock from a few of the wizards in attendance, knowing that such a statement would be well over the line for a hippogriff.

"What!?" Malfoy exclaimed. "No, I-"

"An ugly beast, 'not even suitable as taxidermy!'" Brad said, using air quotes and raising his own voice to match Malfoy's.

"No, I didn't, I-" Malfoy started, but was cut off again.

"You _deny_ it?" Brad asked loudly, and Malfoy took the bait.

"I just said he was easy!" he shouted, wanting to make it over the top of whatever Brad might say. "Easy and not dangerous, that's ALL!" he waved his hand in a motion of finality, and only then did it dawn on him that the room was silent.

"Oh, right _...that's_ what it was," Brad said quietly.

"Is that true?" Fudge asked after giving Brad a harsh look. He wasn't particularly approving of riling people up to get them to talk and had just been about to put a stop to it when young Malfoy admitted to his words.

"I...yes," Malfoy sank back into the chair. There wasn't much going back now.

"Well within the range of instigation for a hippogriff," Dumbledore commented to no one in particular.

"Sir," Brad said to Fudge, "we have provided you with additional copies of our original incident reports. I think you'll find that what Mr. Malfoy admitted to lines up pretty well with the reports."

"Right," Fudge replied. "I'll have to take a moment to review these..." he trailed off, putting glasses on the edge of his nose and staring down at the first report. It took several minutes before he was satisfied. "Alright, well...we must still complete the process, I'm afraid. Mr. Malfoy, please step down. Mr. Potter, up please."

It was lengthy, though cut-and-dried after that. He called each one to the stand to relay their view of the events. It took a long time, with Fudge comparing their verbal statements to their written ones. The students followed a similar procedure, with Hagrid appearing last.

Finally, they were dismissed for Fudge to review things and come to a decision. It didn't take long before they were called back into the Headmaster's office for the verdict.

"On the subject of attack by a hippogriff, in light of new evidence that Mr. Malfoy's original testimony was...less than truthful, and overwhelming evidence in support of that fact; there is no choice but to find the hippogriff, Buckbeak, not guilty. All charges are dropped and this appeal is dismissed." He gestured for them to disperse.

They only just made it outside the room when Brad was picked up from behind in a great bear-hug. He fought the urge to fight back, realizing mentally that he was in no danger, even if his reflexes were telling him otherwise.

"You did it!" Hagrid exclaimed, letting Brad go and taking turns hugging each of them. They celebrated the triumph briefly before Hagrid invited them to his hut for a real celebration...butterbeer and pastries. They accepted, it was a welcome excuse to get their minds off of waiting for grades to be posted.

* * *

By the time they'd made it to the hut, it was almost five in the evening. Harry was shocked at how long the appeals process took, but it was worth it. Seeing Malfoy get bested in front of the Headmaster and the Minister of Magic himself was priceless, not to mention how happy Hagrid was. It was truly a great evening. Once the butterbeers were out, Brad stood up and beckoned his team to do the same.

"We have a bit of work to catch up on back at the castle, prepping for the end of the year and all," he announced. "You guys celebrate, have fun, and congratulations again Hagrid."

"You lot help'd more than yeh know!" Hagrid clapped Brad on the back, perhaps a little rougher than necessary. Brad figured the man never gotten used to his own strength. He took it in stride though and the team left the group to celebrate, having made plans to come and escort them back to the castle later in the evening.

A little over an hour later, Hagrid had enjoyed perhaps one too many and was singing loudly. The three students were enjoying the jovial folk songs he bellowed, more out of seeing his enjoyment than anything else. Even Fang joined in at one point, howling loudly at the right moment in the song.

They were laughing along when Ron sputtered something incomprehensible and dove headlong under the table. It interrupted Hagrid's song as the great man started laughing, while the two friends wondered what in the heck Ron was doing.

"I can't believe it!" he shouted, crawling farther under the table and swiping at something.

"What are you _doing_?" Hermione asked as he shot forward again, swiping his arm in between her ankles and surprising her.

"It's..." Ron stopped short as he lunged one last time, shooting his hand forward to grab it and then hold it close to his chest. Panting he stood up, his hands cupping close to him, something struggling to get out. "It's Scabbers, he's alive!"

Ron produced the rat, and sure enough, it was him. Harry and Hermione both gawked at it for a moment before Hermione started in.

"I told you Crookshanks didn't do it!" she shouted, not forgetting the weeks long fight they'd had.

"Well, he could have!" Ron seemed to know his defense had fallen short.

"I think you owe Crookshanks an apology!" she exclaimed.

"Well I...OUCH!" He yelped, suddenly letting go of the struggling rat. It dropped an uncomfortably long distance to the ground. Scabbers impacted with a soft thud and began scampering toward the door. "It's _me_ you little arse!"

The rat scurried underneath a dresser and up the back end with Ron and Harry chasing after, trying vainly to catch him. It popped out from the top of the dresser and jumped out of an open window. Ron didn't hesitate, darting outside. Harry followed quickly, leaving Hermione alone with Hagrid, who was mumbling to himself about how he shouldn't have had so much to drink. She took off after them.

Ron chased Scabbers across the open field and it was surprising how fast the little rat could be. Harry and Hermione pursued, unable to see the rat but at least capable of following their friend as he scampered around. Finally, he seemed to catch Scabbers at the base of a tree, stuffing the poor creature into a pocket in his robes and standing up triumphantly.

"Ron, look out!" Hermione called, finally recognizing where they were. "It's the Whomping Willow!" Ron froze but it was too late. They heard the creaking of branches moving.

Suddenly, a large black dog darted past them, pawing at a large knot in the tree's side. The tree stopped moving, but before they could react to the new development, the dog seized Ron, who was busy looking up at the tree, by the ankle and started dragging him down into a burrow at the base of the tree.

"HELP!" Ron cried out, "It's got me! HELP!" Just like that, Ron was gone and the night was silent. Harry and Hermione glanced at each other and then both darted toward the hole. The tree started creaking again, but it was too late for it to respond. They made it to the hole and dove in after Ron, wands at the ready.

Inside was a long, dark passage. It was tall enough to walk in, but still uncomfortably cramped and pitch black. Harry and Hermione both illuminated the ends of their wands, but the light only reached so far.

"Where does it lead to?" Hermione asked.

"I dunno," Harry replied honestly. "It's on the map but Fred and George said no one's ever made it past the Whomping Willow to find out. It goes towards Hogsmeade though."

That was all the conversation they allowed. With nowhere else to go, they pressed onward. It was a long way in the darkness, the only light being that which their wands produced. They ran as fast as they could, for as long as they could. By the time they reached the end, they were both doubled over and breathing deeply. The pain in Harry's side was irritating but not enough to prevent him from moving.

They had reached a door. It was old, with peeling paint and a tarnished handle. After a moment's pause, they heard nothing. Ron wasn't screaming. That was either really good or really bad.

"Here goes nothing," Harry said, pushing the door open. They walked inside a dimly lit, ramshackle house. There was a little furniture here and there, but it was covered in dust and there were deep gouges in the walls and on the floor.

"Harry, I think we're in the Shrieking Shack." Hermione whispered, a little fear in her voice.

"I don't think ghosts did _that_ ," he said, pointing at the gouges.

They crept forward, following a clean streak made in the dust along the floor. It was the only obvious path. It led them down a hallway and to a room at the end, where they heard whimpered breathing.

"On three," Harry said, readying his wand and checking for Hermione to do the same. She did and he counted. "One...two... _three_!" They burst into the room, both facing the occupied bed. A very dusty Ron covered with several scrapes was laying there fearfully, pointing at them. Harry put his wand away and took a step toward his friend.

"It's...he's a...it's a trap, he's behind you," Ron sputtered, struggling to complete the sentence. Finally, Harry looked behind them and, melting out of the shadow, was Sirius Black.


	26. The Truth

AN - Here is the next one, don't know how long I'll be keeping up this pace. Enjoy, and as always please review with what you like and don't like about the chapter/story in general.

In response to the comments from Guest, I didn't write in a huge, realistic response from everyone at the muggle soldiers, the magical communities, or the soldiers age because a realistic response to that would probably be huge and a story in and of itself. It's a work of fiction and I took some liberty with the responses so I could tell the story I wanted to tell. I agree, it is a slow burn story. I am building the characters and story so that things later on will make better sense. This is the first project like this I have tackled and it is a learning process for sure. I'm currently very excited because things are getting more AU as things progress. I have been sticking closer to cannon currently because there hasn't been much need to change things. I want things to play out a certain way, and so the story progresses as it does. I disagree that nothing has changed with the addition of OC characters, a lot of the large plot points are the same or at least similar for the reasons above. I appreciate you taking the time to review.

Addtional AN, after checking into the comments from OpenSourceArtist, I found that this chapter was in fact extremely similar to the movie. I have updated it to give it a bit of a different flavor, but this chapter of the story largely _has_ to remain canon for the story to progress the way I want it to. I'll take this moment to reiterate what I said in the beginning of the story, everything from Harry Potter is in no way, shape or form mine, and I have no intention of passing it off as my own. The AU things that I add, and only those things, are mine, though I do not intend to profit from them in any way.

* * *

Harry and Hermione shifted a step back as Sirius stepped toward them. The tall, emaciated man looked haggard, his wild eyes partially concealed by long, greasy hair that spoke of months without washing. The scent of unwashed body was hard on Harry's nose, but he did his best to ignore it.

 _Here he is. The man who betrayed my parents...who killed my family._

"Step out of the way!" The man's voice was raspy, it was as though he hadn't talked in months. Likely, he hadn't.

"You'll have to get through me first!" Hermione said bravely. It was dark, and she hoped no one could see her wincing, tensed up for a coming fight.

"I WON'T ASK AGAIN!" Sirius screamed, his voice cracking a bit as he took a step forward, raising Ron's wand. He was within arm's reach of Harry now, who immediately remembered a self-defense technique he'd learned from his sparring sessions with Brad.

Both of Harry's arms shot up, one going to the crook of the surprised convict's outstretched arm, the other to his wrist. Harry pushed hard as soon as he made contact, causing the man to bend his arm towards himself. He tried to fight it, but momentum was on Harry's side. Harry forced his fingers into Sirius's hand, getting a grip on the wand as it reached his face.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry cried out. A jet of scarlet light caught Sirius directly under the chin, sending him back into the wall, Ron's wand clattering toward Sirius's feet. _That could have gone better…_ Harry fished his own wand out as Hermione pointed hers at the crumpled man. Before they could say anything, the door burst open.

"Drop it!" a familiar voice called out. Harry glanced up and felt a flood of relief as Professor Lupin pointed his wand into the room. He relaxed a bit, but tensed up again as Sirius stood and picked up Ron's wand. Harry raised his wand for another spell but Lupin shouted again. "Both of you, drop your wands!"

Dawning reached Harry. Lupin wasn't aimed into the room, he was aimed at Harry and Hermione. _He was helping Sirius._ They stood there dumbfounded, and dropped their wands. Lupin looked on at Sirius.

"I found him," Sirius smiled hesitantly. His voice was almost hysterical. "I've found him!"

"I know," Lupin replied, a wary, tired grin on his face.

"Let's kill him!" Sirius cried out.

"NO!" Hermione screamed at them, stepping in front of Harry. "I trusted you! And all this time, you've been helping him!" She shouted it, the inflection halfway between a question and an accusation. "He's a werewolf!" She pointed at Lupin as she said it.

"You truly are a clever girl, Hermione," Lupin smiled calmly at her. "How long have you kno-"

"Enough talking, Remus!" Sirius shouted, the impatience palpable. "Let's just kill him, already!"

"Wait!" Lupin yelled sharply in return. Sirius was having none of it.

"I'm through with waiting!" Sirius returned in the same loud tone. "I spent 12 years in Azkaban and now here he is!" Lupin stood there, seeming to weigh things for a moment.

"Alright," he sighed, "but wait _one_ more moment. Harry should know why." That was the last bit that Harry could take. He hated listening to them standing there, deciding his fate.

"I know why!" Harry screamed at them. "My parents are gone because of you!" Harry pointed his finger viciously at Sirius as he exploded with rage.

"No, no, you've got it wrong, Harry," Lupin said, turning his attention away from Sirius. "You're correct, someone did betray your parents, but it was _not_ Sirius."

"Well then?" Harry asked smugly, wondering where they thought they could take this. "Who was it?" Harry had heard the truth, straight from the Minister and some of the most trusted staff at the school.

"Peter-" Lupin started, but was cut short.

"Pettigrew!" Sirius shouted, clearly growing impatient with the back and forth. "And he is in this room…right THERE!" He pointed an accusing finger at Ron.

"Wha…I...me?!" Ron gibbered, terrified. He had no idea how to convince the madman that he was just Ron Weasley and no one else.

"I'm waiting, Peter!" Sirius called in a singsong voice, a giddy laugh escaping him.

 _Wham,_ the door flew open again.

"Expelliarmus!" Professor Severus Snape stood in the doorway. Sirius lost his wand and Snape immediately turned his attention to Professor Lupin. "Ah, how I am going to savor this. I told Dumbledore you were helping him, and he told me I was wrong. Yet, here we stand..."

"Severus, I-" Lupin started, but Sirius was past his boiling point.

"Once again, you've put your keen and penetrating mind to the task, and _once again_ you've come barreling headlong into the wrong conclusion!" Sirius stepped forward toward Snape in a non-threatening manner, attempting to usher the Professor out of the room. Snape jabbed the tip of his wand into the convict's throat.

"Give me a reason," he drawled, "Anything at all."

"Severus, don't be an idi-" Lupin started, but was again cut off by Sirius.

"He can't help it, it's a habit by now," Sirius flashed a crazed grin at the Professor who was also reaching the end of _his_ rope.

"It would be so easy," he pushed the wand deeper into Sirius's throat, causing the man to take a step back. "I'd rather see you with the dementors, though. They've been looking for you..."

Snape continued on, pressing into Sirius's throat and talking about turning him over to the dementors. Harry took a quick look around the room and everyone was distracted. No one was looking at them. He glanced down. His own wand had clattered far away, but Hermione's was near his foot.

As fast as he could manage, he dipped low, snatching the wand from the ground. The fast movement caught everyone's eye, but before Snape could bring his wand to bear, Harry was on him.

"Stupefy!" The jet of light struck Snape square in the chest, launching him back into a wall and knocking him unconscious.

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed, "What'd you do that for!?"

"Explain!" Harry demanded, his wand now pointed at Sirius. "Tell me about him!" Sirius raised his hands in a mockery of surrender, but did nothing to agitate Harry. It was Lupin who answered.

"He was a schoolmate," Lupin said. "Someone we thought was a friend."

"Wrong, he's dead," Harry retorted. " _You_ killed him!" Harry pointed at Sirius, who didn't react. Lupin darted to get in the way.

"No," Lupin said. "I thought so too until _you_ mentioned seeing him on the map."

"The map was wrong," Harry replied easily, but his wand wavered a bit.

"The map is never wrong, that's the whole point!" Sirius said, his patience again depleted. He took a step forward, pointing an accusing finger at Ron again. "He's alive and he's RIGHT THERE!"

"That's mental, I'm not-!" Ron cried out in alarm.

"No, no, not you!" Sirius looked as though he'd stepped in something unpleasant, appalled at having to break things down to this level. "The rat!"

"You mean Scabbers?" Ron said, instinctively hugging the rat closer to his chest. "That's wrong, he's been in the family for-"

"What, 12 years?" Sirius asked, a mocking tone in his voice. Ron said nothing, the guess was right on the point. "An awfully long life for a rat, hmm? Is he maybe missing a toe?" Sirius was closing the distance now.

"So what?" Ron whimpered.

"All anyone found of Peter was his-" Harry started the sentence numbly as things clicked into place, but Sirius was there with emotion aplenty.

"Finger!" Sirius cried out, now standing next to Ron. "The scumbag cut it off to throw everyone off the trail, then turned himself into a rat!" Ron struggled to maintain his grip on Scabbers as the rat wildly attempted to flee.

"Prove it," Harry said, raising his wand again. It was making sense, too much sense… Sirius stooped down to scoop the rat out of Ron's hands but Ron jerked away. Scabbers chose that moment to bite Ron's finger, and the boy let go, sending the rat sailing across the room.

"Get him!" Sirius shouted wildly as the rat landed several feet from the door. It immediately scampered toward the exit, Sirius taking the moment to snatch Ron's wand from the floor again. Lupin waved his wand at the fleeing creature and suddenly it grew into a man, who slid headfirst into the door with a yelp of surprise.

Everyone stayed motionless for a brief moment, stunned into inaction. The plump man in the doorway started to scamper forward and that knocked everyone from their brief reverie. Sirius and Lupin each grabbed a leg, dragging him back inside the room and standing him up so everyone could see.

He was a short, fat man with wild hair and large front teeth. Unmistakably rat-like. He twitched a little bit, looking back and forth between the two men.

"Remus?" he asked, bending into a submissive posture. "Sirius? Old friends!" he cried. Then, he tried to run. They caught him easily and shoved him back into the room. He whimpered and looked around, eyes locking on Harry.

"Is this Harry?!" he exclaimed, again adopting that submissive posture. "You look so much like Ja-" he started but Sirius stopped him from going farther.

"DON'T YOU DARE SPEAK HIS NAME!" Sirius grabbed Peter roughly by the shoulder and threw him backwards. "How dare you even look at Harry!" Peter whimpered and darted to the other side of the room, trying to find protection behind a small piano in a corner. Lupin came to stand on one end, Sirius at the other.

"You betrayed them, didn't you?" Lupin asked. "You sold James and Lily out to Voldemort!"

"That was an accident!" Peter sobbed. "You have no idea just how powerful the Dark Lord was…you'd have done the same thing, Siri-"

"I would have died!" Sirius cried out. "For my friends? I'd have died!" Sirius lunged toward the whimpering man, but he was too quick. Peter darted underneath the piano and ran to the students.

"My boy," Peter whispered, grabbing Harry by the shoulders. "James wouldn't have wanted me _killed_ over this! AHHH!" Sirius had reached him, pulling him away by his ear and throwing him to the ground. Peter rolled with it, coming to rest on his knees at Hermione's feet.

"Sweet girl, you won't let them kill me, right?" He grabbed at her ankles but she stepped back, a look of revulsion on her face. Sirius grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him to the center of the room.

"Voldemort might not have killed you, but _we_ will!" Sirius screamed at him, raising his wand. "On three?"

"STOP!" Harry shouted, stopping them in their tracks. If all this was true, then Harry couldn't let them become murderers now. If Sirius was his dad's friend, he couldn't let the man become a murderer after all this time of innocence.

"Harry, you realize this man-" Lupin started.

"I know exactly who his is!" Harry never took his eyes off of the whimpering mess of a man. "We will take him to the castle."

"Oh, thank you!" Peter cried, dropping to his knees.

"As far as I'm concerned, he belongs in Azkaban." Harry stared at the man with disgust as he broke back down into a sobbing mess. Harry looked up at Sirius. "He should go in your place."

"If you're certain." Lupin lowered his wand. Sirius looked longingly at Peter, as though calculating the consequences of defying Harry's wish.

Ultimately, he opted to go with the plan and drop the wand. Lupin struck Peter with a binding spell and he and the unconscious Professor Snape were levitated down the passage leading back to the castle. Harry helped Ron walk, his ankle still bruised and bleeding from the bite that dragged him down originally.

"Look," Sirius started conversationally, "sorry for biting you. I imagine that probably hurt a bit."

"A bit?" Ron asked incredulously. "You almost killed me!"

"That's a bit of an exaggeration, I think. Anyway, I was aiming for the rat!" Sirius said, "Normally, I am a very sweet dog. James used to tell me I should just stay that way." Ron rolled his eyes, but they continued onward. After a while, they made it outside. They made better time than Lupin, who was levitating both of the captives, so Harry sat Ron down on a nearby root and Hermione started tending to him. Sirius walked to get a better view of the castle and Harry followed.

"That was a merciful decision back there," Sirius said, nodding toward the still whimpering form of Peter Pettigrew. "He doesn't deserve it."

"I think it is what my dad would have wanted," Harry replied evenly. He still wasn't one hundred percent sure. In his heart, a fierce battle was waging about turning him over to the dementors versus killing him outright. "Plus, we need him alive to exonerate you." Sirius sighed in agreement.

"I don't know if anyone told you, but when you were born, James and Lily...they made me your godfather," he said, hesitantly.

"Yeah, I know." Harry remembered hearing that in Hogsmeade.

"Well, I can understand if you choose to stay with your aunt and uncle..." he sniffed loudly before continuing, "but if you ever wanted a different home..."

"What?" Harry asked, stunned. "Come and live with you?"

"Well..." Sirius backtracked. "I mean...I was just thinking out loud..." Harry opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted.

"HARRY!" Hermione shrieked, her voice an octave higher in panic. "HELP!" Harry and Sirius looked back and saw Lupin standing, convulsing in the moonlight. _The moonlight!_


	27. The End of the Beginning

AN - Sorry for the delay, my beta was busy and I wanted to make sure this got edited before posting it. I know the last chapter was a bit dry, I hope you enjoy this one a lot more.

* * *

"Shit, man," Mike sighed as they bounded down the steps and onto the Hogwarts grounds, "I didn't think the Major was ever gonna shut up."

Brad smiled. Major Price had interrupted their inventory on equipment in order to talk to them about how they needed to account for every last boot, bullet and bean brought into the school by Task Force Ansible, and that the operators were one hundred percent responsible for every bit of the special equipment they'd brought.

It was sensible, of course. It wouldn't do to have some first-year kid find a grenade next year, or some other piece of equipment. They needed to leave the school safe at the end of the year. The timing was impeccable, however, as the Major didn't seem to realize he was interrupting their inventory to tell them to inventory. By the time Major Price left, it was time to go retrieve the trio from Hagrid's hut.

"Boots, bullets, and beans," Mike said in a mocking voice, earning a chuckle from the operators as they headed toward Hagrid's hut.

"Yeah, he sure seemed to have that speech worked out," Brad replied. He was about to make another comment on it when his train of thought was interrupted.

"HARRY!" a shrill voice screamed, "HELP!"

"Fuck," Mike said. It didn't take long to recognize Hermione's voice, and it took even less time to understand the panic. She needed help and she needed it now.

They reacted fast, sprinting down the grounds toward where they'd heard the scream, chambering the stunning rounds into their rifles as they went. It wasn't easy to do that and sprint at the same time, but years of practice won out for them.

"Kingpin, Reaper team, student in distress in the courtyard, we're investigating!" Brad called into his radio as they ran, updating the rest of the Task Force. He heard Kingpin respond but didn't have anything else to say, so he just continued running.

The troops crested a small rise and saw a group of figures near the Whomping Willow, a spot they'd been warned to steer clear from. The scene was a confusing one. There were two floating figures, one man that was standing and it looked like he was convulsing, another that seemed to be trying to calm him, and the three students standing nearby, obviously distressed.

"Uh," Mike said aloud, registering the same problem. It was dark by now, the figures in the distance only silhouetted by the moonlight. The US military had access to some of the best night vision technology in the world, and the operators of Reaper team each had a set of the top devices in US inventory…sitting in the supply room inside the castle, not doing them a damned bit of good right now.

"Light 'em up," Brad said shouldering his rifle and centering the red dot on his scope at center of mass on the convulsing man. "We sort it out later." He started walking forward slowly, his team close in tow.

 _Crack, crack, crack-crack-crack-crack._ They each picked targets and fired as they got closer, pulling the trigger in controlled shots that kept coming until the target dropped. In moments, all of the strange figures were laying on the ground and the only ones standing were Reaper team and the trio.

"You all alright?" Brad shouted, his ears ringing a bit from the gunshots. They'd closed the rest of the distance and were still aimed in the general direction of the bodies that were scattered around. "Anyone hurt?"

"You shot them!" Harry shouted.

"My leg!" Ron cried out at the same time. Brad looked over at them. Ron was indeed bleeding from the leg, and both Harry and Hermione looked extremely distressed, but it was more a look of concern than fear.

"Someone fill me in," Brad said. He didn't like being in the dark.

"That was Sirius and-" Harry said, starting toward the bodies. Brad reacted immediately, pushing Harry away and raising his rifle back toward the bodies. He wasn't about to allow any more risk than necessary.

 _Whump._ A bright light in the distance, very obviously a Patronus Pack. _Whump, whump._ Two more at other places along the perimeter towards Hogsmeade.

"Kingpin, this is Sandman," a voice crackled over his radio, "Multiple contacts, the dementors are swarming the perimeter at multiple points. Request assistance!" He heard gunshots in the distance. When it rains, it pours...it was time to get everyone inside.

Before they could move, Brad heard several more sets of boots running up. He greeted Lieutenant Tzu, the Quick Reaction Force leader, along with fifteen more soldiers.

"You guys alright? We heard the gunfire," the Lieutenant said. Brad nodded.

" _We're_ good." He gestured toward the trio and his team. "I will need..." he looked at the unconscious men nearby. Two people to a body… "Four guys to help carry these out to the castle. The rest of you help reinforce the perimeter."

"On it," Han replied, pointing out four men almost immediately. "You four, as the man said. The rest of you with me!" They took off running toward the perimeter, where what sounded like a pretty significant firefight was occurring. Brad heard the rumble of a Humvee heading that way too, the other element from the QRF.

They scooped the unconscious adults up and headed to the castle, Harry and Hermione helping Ron walk the rest of the way.

* * *

"This is madness!" Minister Cornelius Fudge cried out. "The man has been in Azkaban for _twelve_ years! He's a criminal!"

"Going to prison doesn't make you a criminal," Brad said cooly, "it makes you a prisoner."

"They are awake now, yes?" Dumbledore asked. They were all standing in the Headmaster's office, Minister Fudge, the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall, Brad, and Major Price.

After getting everyone to the castle, Brad had ordered each of the four men separated. They were taken to different classrooms, checked for wands and other weapons, and kept under guard. Brad apologized to Harry, Ron and Hermione, but he ordered the same be done to them.

One way to ensure that the truth was told was to separate everyone. Ask them the same questions individually and look for inconsistencies. Thus far, on orders from Major Price, none of the adults had been questioned. Reaper handled the questioning of the trio, however, and all of them had said the same thing.

Sirius Black was innocent, the unidentified man was Peter Pettigrew, the real betrayer of the Potter family all those years ago. It was a lot to take in.

"Yes, Sir," Major Price replied, "they're awake."

"I should say this warrants at least an inquiry," Dumbledore looked at Minister Fudge. "Wouldn't you?"

"Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt," Fudge mumbled. "But, I'll not be surprised when we find out Black was behind all of this. A long history of dark magic, the Black's have."

One by one, they went to each of the rooms. They started with Harry, Ron and Hermione, who each told a remarkably similar tale. Then Remus Lupin, who had to admit he was a werewolf to the Minister, but whose story also mirrored that of the students. Then Professor Snape, who accused Harry of stunning him and Lupin with conspiring to have Harry killed. His testimony was the most wildly different from anyone else's.

Sirius Black's was an interesting interview. The man was remarkably down to earth, not at all the crazed, dark wizard that the Ministry had purported him to be. His, more detailed tale, was much the same as the others.

Last of all, the new man. His interview was brief. He started off begging for mercy, and Fudge had to calm him by saying he'd not been accused of anything yet. It wasn't strictly true, but it got the man to stop his wailing. He kept evading questions throughout his interview, breaking down into sobs at almost every one and ultimately answering nothing.

It was Dumbledore who proposed a final solution to the problem at hand. He informed the Minister that Professor Snape was a top-notch Potions master, and would undoubtedly have a vial of veritaserum in his stores. Dumbledore offered to dose both Sirius Black and the new man, who everyone was calling Peter anyway.

The Minister agreed and less than an hour later, the truth was officially out. Sirius Black had been framed for it all. At the last minute, Sirius had told James he should use Peter Pettigrew as the secret keeper for a Fidelius charm. Sirius was the obvious choice and thus obvious target. No one would expect Peter to be a secret keeper for anything.

They hadn't known that Peter had turned to Voldemort's side, however. Almost as soon as it was done, Peter betrayed his friends, ultimately leading to their death. When Sirius confronted Peter about it, he staged his own death and allowed Sirius to take the fall. The matter was closed that very instant, as Minister Fudge declared Sirius Black a free man again, and placed Peter Pettigrew under arrest, pending death by Dementor's Kiss. After twelve years of allowing an innocent man to rot in prison, and the resources and embarrassment caused to the Ministry, they were taking a pretty hard-lined stance.

* * *

Brad stood with the rest of the group at Hogsmeade Station, waiting for the train ride to whisk all of the students away for the summer. It had been an incredible year, and quite a turn of events.

After the exoneration of Sirius Black, he'd been allowed to reclaim all of his old assets, along with a pretty hefty sum of money from the Ministry for his mistaken imprisonment. There was a lot to do, and so Harry would be going back to the Dursley's...for a time.

Sirius didn't imagine it would be longer than a month before everything would be ready, at which point he'd told Harry he would be welcome any time. Harry didn't have to be asked twice, and told Sirius that he'd be moving in the moment Sirius was ready. Brad could tell they were both excited by it, and it did his heart good to see it.

Harry didn't have a family, and now he was getting one. It struck Brad in a place that only those without families could understand. There was that pang of jealousy of course, but mostly happiness for someone he now considered a friend.

"You take care of yourself now, buddy," Brad said, grasping Harry's hand in a firm handshake. He patted Ron on the back, "You too."

"I'm going to miss you," Harry said. He'd grown used to having the soldiers around, it would be weird without them, and he was going to miss the sparring sessions. Brad had been elated when Harry told him about stunning Sirius with his own wand.

"Don't worry, man," Brad smiled. "We'll stay in touch. Pen pals or something."

"Sound's good," Harry said. Down the platform a way stood Mike and Hermione.

The end of the year was particularly rough on the couple, who would now be parting ways. Neither of them said it out loud, but there was no realistic way that they would be seeing each other again for a very long time.

There was no mass murderer hunting a student, at least not at the moment. No real reason to redeploy the Task Force to Hogwarts next year. That meant staying stateside and doing his job there, and it meant Hermione going to school without him there.

She'd been pretty stoic about it, at least around them. He'd heard rumors about her crying hard at night though and her swollen eyes did nothing to dispel the rumor. Mike had been uncharacteristically brooding lately as well, a sign of his grief at the situation.

Regardless, they put on their best faces for this final moment they'd have together. Mike held her close in a firm hug, getting one last smell of her hair, one last bit of that comforting closeness. Finally, she pulled back a little and looked up at him.

He couldn't help it. He leaned in and kissed her, hesitantly at first, then deeply. He ignored a whistle, from Jason it sounded like, and continued the kiss for as long as he thought he could get away with it. When he broke back from her, he saw the welled tears in her eyes and fought off his own.

"You-" her voice cut out and she cleared her throat. "You'd better write to me," she said, her voice sounding tight.

"Every day." He rested his forehead against hers for a moment before they were interrupted by the train's whistle. They stood there for a moment longer before he let go, nudging her toward the train. He'd rather eat a bullet than push her away, but he knew she needed to go home. "I'll see you around," he said.

"I-" she opened her mouth to say something but her voice caught again. He thought he saw a tear roll down her cheek but she looked down before he could be certain. She turned and walked fast into the train. Just like that she was gone.

A few minutes later, the four operators were the only ones on the track. The train rolled away loudly, the long journey home ahead of it.

Brad walked to the still standing Mike, who was staring off at the retreating train. He pulled the operator into a half hug and guided him around toward the waiting Humvee. He didn't say anything. There was nothing to say, nothing that would make him feel any better.

They had to get their things packed away for the ride home tonight though, and the task wasn't going to do itself. It was time to go back home. There was more work to do.

* * *

AN - Well, that is the end of year three! I have started on the next portion of the story and should have an update soon. Please, feel free to comment on what you do and don't like about the story so far.


	28. Harry's Summer

AN - Sorry for the delay getting this to you folks. Took a while to get this back from my beta and I worked a bunch of overtime and didn't have much time to go through edits until now. Thanks for sticking with the story everyone. For those commenting that the story is very similar to the original so far, I agree but as time goes on things will divert pretty greatly. For now, here's the next chapter. Enjoy, and as always, feel free to comment on what you like and don't like.

* * *

Harry ran his fingers through his messy hair, looking at the packed trunk again. Well, his not-unpacked trunk, to be technical. He had spent the entire train ride back to Little Whinging in a mixture of excitement and depression.

He was going back to the Dursley's. He'd spent his entire memorable life with the Dursleys and he'd not enjoyed a single moment of it. They went out of their way to make his life miserable. He lived in a cupboard underneath a staircase until he was eleven. When he'd found out he was a wizard, he'd been allowed to take one of the spare bedrooms used by his cousin, Dudley. The smallest of course, and sparsely decorated, but he supposed it was an upgrade.

He still did much of the cooking and almost all of the cleaning. They adamantly _refused_ to acknowledge magic, preferring to lock up all of his school supplies when he was there and forbidding him to speak about anything magic related. Magic, as a word, was one that carried more grave consequences than any other curse word he could utter.

Every moment spent with the Dursleys, he was sure, had to be some form of torture. That was his life though, and he was, for all intents and purposes, used to it. In previous years, he dreaded coming back to the Dursley's for the summer vacation. Now things were different.

That's not to say that he didn't dread it this time. No, instead it was ten times worse, because he'd made plans to go stay with his godfather, Sirius Black.

Until very recently, he'd had no idea he _had_ a godfather. Then he found out that while he did have one, he was a convicted murderer responsible for killing his parents. _Then_ he found out that the man was actually innocent, and that a different family friend had committed the betrayal. It had been a whirlwind of a year.

Even though he'd missed the last 12 years as a free man and had not really met Harry before, Sirius took his role as godfather at least a little seriously. He'd made the invitation for Harry to stay with him if he wanted, and honestly there was _nothing_ that sounded better. Being away from the Dursleys was something he could always get behind, and in the short time he'd known Sirius, the man had made a good impression. Harry felt like he could trust Sirius to look out for him, and that feeling was good.

The month that Sirius had asked for, in order to get his affairs in order and do some recovering after his many years in Azkaban, had been one of the longest in Harry's life. He had no way to really pass the time, not enjoyably at least.

The Dursleys would not allow him to access his school supplies, so studying was out of the question. Owls could only travel so fast, so the few letters back and forth took a long time between responses. He had no friends outside of school, so there was no one to visit.

Well, he _did_ have some friends outside of school, but again it did him no good. Captain Bradley Gordon of the US Army, and the rest of his team, were among his friends. It was true, they were not from his school, but they lived and worked in the United States. Visiting them would be a headache to say the least, though he mused that his uncle might actually appreciate it for once, if not for the fact that he'd have to pay the airfare. Fat chance.

Brad was a muggle, though genetically altered to be able to see and interact with magic. He couldn't pick up a wand and do magic, that was still something only a wizard or another magical being could do. But, much like a squib, Brad was able to see it. According to him, seeing was half of the battle.

Harry mused that Brad would have been at least partially satisfied with how Harry was spending the month at the Dursleys. With nothing else to do, he'd been spending a lot of time doing exercises to stay in shape. A little bit of muscle-building here and there, but mostly it was just getting his heart pumping. He didn't have anyone to spar with, but he was able to practice a bit when he was alone.

It wasn't much, but it was something. Something to pass the time and something to keep him at least marginally safer. Sirius had actually been pretty impressed; the way Harry was able to disarm him and use his own wand against him. Both Sirius and Brad, separately, had encouraged Harry to keep up in his self-defense. Harry had to admit, it felt good knowing he could handle himself if something got ugly.

 _Thump-thump-thump._ "Boy!" The very loud, rather obnoxious voice of Uncle Vernon knocked Harry out of his thoughts. "Boy, it's time to get that kitchen clean! Now!" _Thump._ Harry hung his head for a moment before getting up. _Any time now, Sirius._

Harry headed downstairs to go get the dishes done. Harry had made very sure to keep his mouth shut about his godfather. He'd been afraid that, in some way, the Dursleys would spoil his leaving them to live with Sirius. Their seeming enjoyment of tormenting him was only rivaled by their hatred of all things magic, and a part of him was sure that they would find a way to keep him there just to spite him. _That_ would be a nightmare.

Eyeing the large stack of dishes that somehow accumulated since lunchtime, Harry let out a soft sigh. Dudley and Uncle Vernon especially spent much of their day eating. He knew better than to be obvious about his displeasure, it was a lot easier if he just went along with it. He grabbed the first plate, which had crusted bits of something that seemed to have bonded at a molecular level to the plate. Harry started to scrub but was interrupted.

 _Knock-knock._ Two loud raps at the front door, audible even over the TV, which was showing some action movie Dudley just got. Harry was already wiping his hands on his pants when Uncle Vernon called out.

"Boy, get the door!" he huffed. Harry walked past the great mound of a man, who hadn't yet put his newspaper down. It was a wonder there was anything left to read, being that he'd been glued to it at all both meals earlier today.

Harry opened the door and looked at the stranger standing there. He was tall, with nearly shoulder length black hair and deep gray eyes. He was dressed sharply in a nice suit and smiled broadly before grasping Harry in a tight hug. Only then did Harry recognize his godfather, and he returned the hug.

"Just who do you think you are!?" Uncle Vernon roared. Obviously, he'd put the newspaper down and was confused by Harry hugging the stranger. Harry and Sirius broke apart and Sirius eyed Uncle Vernon as he struggled to heave himself out of his chair. Sirius took a step inside and Harry closed the door, which seemed to enrage Uncle Vernon further. "What are you letting him in here for, boy!? This is not your house to go inviting-"

"Quiet!" Sirius shouted over the top of Uncle Vernon. The surprise of it left him silent. It was only for a moment, but that moment was enough. "I'm Sirius Black, Harry's godfather." Uncle Vernon, who'd had his mouth open for another round, snapped it shut again.

Harry had relayed that much about his school year, that his escaped madman of a godfather was out to kill him. His aunt and uncle didn't seem to care all that much one way or the other, but it was something else entirely having a serial killer in your home.

"Wha-what do you want?" Aunt Petunia spoke into the silence. She was holding Dudley by the shoulders, as though her frail from could get the _very_ fat boy out of danger.

"I'm here to collect Harry, of course." Sirius's face, which had been so full of joy just moments ago, was betraying a look of supreme irritation at the way he'd been treated so far.

"There won't be a need for violence," Uncle Vernon said cautiously. Sirius gave Harry a quizzical look.

"I didn't tell them," Harry explained. "I didn't want them to mess it up."

"Mess what up?" Uncle Vernon's voice edged back into hostility.

"I see," Sirius said to Harry before turning toward the purple-faced head of the house. "I was exonerated, and as I am Harry's godfather, I will be bringing him to stay with me."

"I-" Vernon started, but was cut off quickly by Sirius.

"have no say in the matter," Sirius completed the man's sentence. "And you would be wise to remember it. I spent twelve years in prison...it...it changes a man. I have a much shorter fuse than I once did." As though on cue, Sirius twitched his neck, giving him a distinctly unstable look. Anything Uncle Vernon might have wanted to say was gone now. "Go. Collect your things."

Harry didn't have to be told twice. He went to his room to grab his trunk and Hedwig's cage. Hermione, bless her heart, had performed a spell before they left Hogwarts, that enlarged the space in his trunk and allowed him to fit the entirety of his belongings in it, not that there was much. The spell wasn't perfect, and poor Hermione tormented herself on it during the train-ride back, upset that it was only about a quarter of the space she'd intended. Still, it was a very advanced spell and it was definitely enough to fit his meager belongings.

Once Harry was downstairs, Uncle Vernon pulled his keys from his pocket, fumbling with the padlock that kept Harry's trunk from being opened. Under the very unnerving gaze of Sirius, he undid the lock and stepped back. Harry looked at the Dursleys once more. He couldn't help the light feeling in his chest. He was never, ever going to stay with them again, and it felt _amazing._

* * *

Harry dropped to his knees, retching hard. Thankfully, Aunt Petunia had been serving food that he wasn't particularly fond of all day and he hadn't eaten much. Still, dry-heaving was not his idea of a good time.

"I did warn you," Sirius patted Harry's back. It was true, Sirius told him that Apparition was not among the more pleasant methods of travel, and that the first time was always the worst. "You alright?"

"I'm good," Harry said. He stood up, looking at his surroundings. There was a long, poorly lit hall before him, and a staircase nearby leading up to another floor. The place was huge. There were stacks of boxes across halls, some areas looked clean and others still had thick dust layers. There was certainly work to be done. Several rather nice paintings were hung throughout, though one about halfway down the hall was covered with a sheet.

"I hadn't been here in a long time," Sirius commented as Harry appraised the home. "I managed to get some of it, but there was a lot of work to do…there still is."

"I can-" Harry started, but they were interrupted by the appearance of a wrinkly skinned, bulbous nosed house-elf. Much like the old Malfoy servant, Dobby, this one was dressed in some kind of sack. There was a major contrast in demeanor, however. Even when Dobby was stressed-out or upset, he still had an excitable air about him. This elf had deep frown lines that left Harry wondering if the muscles used for smiling were even there anymore.

"Master Black," the elf said, gesturing toward them and a somehow _deeper_ scowl forming across his already unpleasant face. "How unfortunate that you're back...and with company."

"Bugger off and clean something!" Sirius shouted at the elf, startling Harry. The elf turned and left, muttering something to himself. Harry gave his godfather a questioning look about the rude outburst. "He came with the house...been with the family for a long time. He's always got something to say."

"Right," Harry said evenly. There definitely seemed to be some bad blood between the two. He was surprised to see a house elf behave that way, but it was equally surprising to hear his godfather take such a tone toward his own house-elf.

"Anyway, you can leave your stuff there. Kreacher will take it upstairs later, I cleaned a room for you. I was thinking maybe we could get something to eat...are you hungry?" Sirius asked.

"Yeah." Harry _was_ hungry. He had a long-standing tradition of not being fed very much when he was with the Dursleys. Sirius nodded and lead Harry deeper into the house. They passed the covered painting and went downstairs.

Downstairs they cut through a dining room and went into the kitchen, where Sirius began looking in various cupboards and a refrigerator. Some muggle inventions, it seemed, were just transcendent. As Sirius foraged for their meal, Harry took to inspecting the dining room.

It too was recently cleaned, and not very thoroughly. There were streaks on parts of the table where the thick layer of dust wasn't _fully_ removed. The tops of various paintings and portraits were covered in the same dust. Harry heard the telling creaks and groans as Sirius opened and closed things. Aunt Petunia would have had a coronary. Harry couldn't help smiling at the thought.

"Well, I think I forgot to get Kreacher to do some grocery shopping. You maybe want to go out?" Sirius had a pained expression, obviously concerned about what Harry would think about the lack of preparedness.

"Sounds great!" Harry exclaimed. He sounded more excited than he'd intended to, and it brought a smile to Sirius. Harry _always_ stayed home when the Dursleys went to eat at a restaurant. Harry had been out to The Three Broomsticks and The Leaky Cauldron several times, but they were obviously pubs and just not the same as eating in a restaurant.

"Alright, I know a pretty god Italian place just a few minute's walk from here." They each grabbed a coat and headed out, Harry following Sirius. It was dark outside now and they walked briskly. There were clouds overhead threatening rain, and while it hadn't started yet, they wanted to be inside when it did.

The restaurant looked nice. The inside was comfortably dim, the walls paneled with a light wood and brick that lent to its cozy atmosphere. Many of the tables were filled by couples enjoying a date night. They were lead to a red booth by an attractive hostess who promised that they would be helped soon.

Harry sat on one side, his godfather opposite him. The man really was looking a lot better. His cheeks were fuller, his teeth straighter and whiter, and his eyes had lost much of the haunted look that was present the last time they were together. Before they could say anything, the waitress came. She was a tall, olive skinned brunette with a bubbly smile.

"Good evening," she greeted them. "Can I get anything started for you?"

"I'll...uhhh..." Sirius thumbed through the drink menu and looked completely lost. Their waitress, Sofia, smiled broadly at him.

"Been a while since you had a drink?" she asked. Sirius looked back at her with a sheepish grin. It _had_ been a while. He seemed to recover and replied.

"It sure has," he said. He winked at her and added, "I'll take one of whatever you like. You seem a trustworthy sort."

"Oh," she laughed a little, nodding. "One of what I like, coming right up. And for you?" she turned to Harry, her smile still wide.

"I...er," Harry stammered. The Dursleys never took him to a restaurant, so his familiarity with muggle drinks was, at a minimum, sub-par. He'd kill for a butterbeer, but knew better than to think they had that. "Same for me."

"Is that right?" she squinted her eyes at him. Sirius laughed out and waved his hand as though to dismiss his request.

"You'll have to excuse him," Sirius said, taking Sofia's attention again. She continued her guarded look, trying to determine if Sirius had a habit of allowing the boy to get alcoholic drinks. "He thinks he's hilarious. He'll take a pop, please."

"A pop?" she laughed again and Sirius sighed.

"A soda, whatever the cool kids are calling it these days." It was another area Sirius had some trouble with. Slang had evolved since his imprisonment and he seemed a little old-fashioned now. He was picking it up quickly, but old habits die hard. She left to get their drinks.

"What'd I do wrong?" Harry asked while they were again alone.

"You're not old enough for alcohol, my boy." Sirius smiled at him. "Not in the muggle world, anyway. It's not legal."

"Oh, and you were getting alcohol," Harry nodded in understanding. "I never got to go to restaurants with the Dursleys."

"Yeah," Sirius' face turned to a scowl briefly. After learning how the Dursleys treated Harry, Sirius had been irate. He'd only just managed to maintain his composure when picking Harry up and was determined not to allow the boy back into their care at all. "You'll not need to worry about that again, not if I can help it."

"Here you go," Sofia said as she rapidly walked to their table, sliding a tall fruity beverage with a twirling straw in front of Sirius and a fizzing soda in front of Harry.

"Wow!" Sirius exclaimed, obviously not expecting the drink to look as it did.

"You _did_ ask for what _I_ liked," she said with a mischievous grin.

"I suppose I walked into that," he said, then taking a sip. "Not bad."

"What can I get you to eat?" she asked. Sirius ordered a plate of the Italian steak and fries while Harry got a simpler plate of spaghetti. He wasn't feeling adventurous quite yet.

Sirius sipped away at his fruit drink and Harry saw the man loosen up a little more. He wasn't drunk or anything like Harry had seen on various shows and movies, or like Uncle Vernon. He just seemed a bit more relaxed.

"So, what have you been up to all this time?" Harry asked. It felt like ages before Sirius came to get him.

"Well," Sirius paused, thinking where to start. "I had to go to the Ministry and get all of my things in order. Get the house back, my bank accounts restarted. Got a pretty nice settlement from the Ministry for imprisoning me wrongfully, too. Your friend, Hermione, got her parents to do some work on my teeth." Sirius smiled broadly, showing off the handiwork. "They're muggle tooth doctors, did you know? Anyway, a lot of running around, getting things in order. Did some work on the house, but as you saw, there is a lot of cleaning left to do."

"I can help with that," Harry said. He'd never imagined himself volunteering to clean house, but he cared about Sirius' wellbeing and knew the man could use a hand. Plus, it never hurt to be useful. A part of him still felt nervous that Sirius would find it all too much and send him back to the Dursleys.

"Here you go," Sofia appeared out of nowhere again. She seemed to fly around the restaurant. She set their food in front of them. "How's that _pop_?" she asked, emphasizing the old-fashioned term with a big smile again.

"You'll have to excuse me, I was wrongfully imprisoned for twelve years," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm still learning how to be civilized."

"Oh?" she gave a surprised look and then inspected him again. "Well, in that case the drink's on me." She gave him a quick wink and turned, off to her next task. Sirius watched her walk away, her hips bouncing side to side as she went.

"You fancy her?" Harry asked, smiling. It seemed so juvenile to him, watching them flirt back and forth. He was glad to see Sirius attempting to put the past behind him. Moving on seemed the healthy thing to do. Sirius simply laughed and changed the subject.

They ate on, catching up and making plans for what they'd do as far as cleaning the house up, though Sirius insisted that Harry needed to start studying for the upcoming year. Harry couldn't help but smile inwardly at how very _parental_ it sounded.

When Harry's head finally hit the pillow, in his bed, in his own room, he was exhausted. But, for the first time outside of school, he went to bed happy and looking forward to the next day. It was very new, but he felt sure he was going to like living with Sirius.


	29. A New Concern

AN - Here's the next chapter. Enjoy, and as always, feel free to leave a review.

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Colonel Marshall Sumner drummed his fingers on the conference room table, waiting impatiently. It was never one of his strong-suits, desk life. Colonel Sumner was a door-kicker, living for the action. While it was an honor to run Task Force Ansible, it required much more desk work than he was accustomed to.

Today, he'd spent the morning in a briefing room listening to two science officers argue, diplomatically, over whether funding should be directed to Mk III Patronus munitions, including the possibility of miniaturization into grenade form, or to direct the funding into body armor systems using literal dragon scales.

Both would be expensive as hell, and even his budget had its limits. Eventually, he settled on the armor option. Dragon scale armor showed promise in that dragon scales were strong enough to stop a bullet, and somehow absorbed or deflected most magical attacks. A team of operators covered in the stuff could be unstoppable. If not for the fact that the scales were not common and were fairly expensive. The method currently being researched attempted find a way to manufacture the scales synthetically.

Then he sat in a budget meeting where he was encouraged by a bean counter sent by Washington to figure out ways to cut spending within the Task Force. The guy didn't have clearance to get details on things like Task Force Ansible, all he knew was a lot of money went to the project and he wanted to make it less.

Now, he was waiting in a conference room at the Task Force Ansible headquarters on Fort Bragg for General Thomas, President Harris of MACUSA and Albus Dumbledore. The meeting wasn't scheduled to start for another ten minutes. The fact that he'd already been there for half an hour stemmed from the fact that he had it on good authority that Dr. Handover was looking for him, wanting him to change his mind about the Mk III's.

It didn't project the head honcho military commander feeling, his ducking away to escape the man's desired meeting, but such was life. He wasn't willing to sit through another lecture.

Instead, he turned his thoughts to what he knew about the upcoming meeting. Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, had contacted President Harris, asking for a meeting that involved TFA. The headmaster had been pleased with the performance of the Task Force the previous year and their role in exonerating an innocent man. It hadn't won the them many favors with the British Ministry, however, as it caused a fair amount of embarrassment.

The door opened and an aide stepped in, followed by General Thomas, President Harris, and Albus Dumbledore. Colonel Sumner stood up as they entered, gesturing to seats at the empty table emblazoned with the Task Force Ansible patch, a Spartan helmet with night optics attached to the top, beneath it a crossed rifle and wand. The wand was designed such that, if the observer didn't know what it was, it would be mistaken for a rocket.

"Colonel," General Thomas greeted as he entered the room. "I hope you weren't waiting long."

"Not at all, sir." Colonel Sumner sat down last of all. "I was just taking a break from the briefings." Like the Colonel, General Thomas had been a career shooter before being appointed to head JSOC. He kicked down doors and was in the center of the action for years. If anyone understood the pain of attending briefings and reading reports all day, it was going to be him.

"Headmaster, welcome," Sumner said after a moment of silence. "You are the one that requested this meeting, so by all means, what can we do for you?"

"Thank you, Colonel." Dumbledore said. His eyes were twinkling in that same friendly manner that Sumner remembered. "I am going to share with you all some information, much of which is known to very few people, and some of which is known only to me. It is my hope that you will reach the same conclusions that I have."

"Fifteen years ago, the British wizarding community was fighting a war. Our opponent, Voldemort, was a master of dark magic. He learned of a prophecy, the contents of which are of the utmost secrecy. I will share with you this, it indicated that a boy would be born that could challenge him, that would be his undoing. Voldemort believed that boy to be Harry Potter and tried to kill him." Dumbledore continued the history lesson with the rapt attention of those at the table. They knew bits and pieces of it, but not the whole story.

"Harry's mother, Lily, protected Harry with her life and it caused a particularly ancient magic to protect him. When Voldemort tried to kill Harry, the spell backfired. The vast majority of the British wizarding community, indeed, the wizarding _world,_ believes Voldemort dead." Dumbledore paused.

"But not you?" General Thomas reached the conclusion the same as the rest of them at the table.

"I believe that Voldemort, though not exactly _alive,_ is not dead either." Dumbledore said. "During Harry's first year, an attempt was made to steal the Philosophers Stone. It would allow the owner to live indefinitely. The attempt failed, thanks in large part to the bravery of young Harry. In his second year, a Basilisk was set loose in the school. Harry told me, after killing the creature, that he'd been confronted by a ghostly vision of Tom Riddle." Dumbledore stopped for a minute, searching for the right words.

"Not many people knew that Tom Riddle was the name given to Voldemort when he was born. The vision was destroyed when Harry destroyed a diary, once owned by Tom. It is my belief that Voldemort may be using Horcrux's to extend his life."

"My god," President Harris murmured. "You said Horcrux's, plural. You believe he created _more than one?_ "

"I have no way of telling whether or not the diary was a Horcrux or not, unfortunately. I had hoped that, if it was, it was the only one and that Voldemort might be permanently vanquished. Recently, however, there was a murder in the small town of Little Hangleton. I have kept an eye on the news from there, as it once housed the Riddle family. The man murdered, Frank Bryce, was the house keeper of the Riddle home, and there is no sign of how he may have been killed."

"A hell of a coincidence," Colonel Sumner said.

"Hang on a minute," General Thomas chimed in, waving a hand as though to back them up. "I'm still a bit lost here, what is a Horcrux?"

"It's a rather nasty bit of magic, literally tearing a piece of one's soul off and placing it in an object. The only way to create one is to kill someone. It is a painful process. To do it more than once..." President Harris explained, trailing off at the thought.

"Aside from this, a Ministry employee, Bertha Jorkins, has gone missing recently. This brings me to the current problem. There are two major events being held in Britain this year," Dumbledore said. "The Quidditch World Cup and the Triwizard Tournament, which will be hosted by Hogwarts."

"Alright," Sumner said at Dumbledore's pause. He was curious where all of this was leading.

"I believe Voldemort is still alive, in some fashion, and still is obsessed with killing Harry. Harry will be attending the World Cup with the Weasley family. Arthur won tickets, quite a few actually. Anyway, Bertha was quite familiar with the Ministry plans for both events. My concern is that if Voldemort makes an attempt on Harry's life, in any form, that it will be made with prior knowledge to Ministry security measures."

"And thus _around_ those measures," Sumner completed the thought aloud and Dumbledore nodded gravely.

"We aren't exactly welcome company in Britain," General Thomas said. He was inclined to help. The fact that they would be fighting the good fight was appealing, and done right it would be great PR for the Task Force. They'd made great strides and the United States was the safest it had been in generations, but the magical community just wasn't quite sold yet. "We caused the Minister a bit of embarrassment last year."

"It's not exactly like we can deploy a company of troops to the World Cup," President Harris agreed. "With your invitation, we can probably do something about the Triwizard event, but I don't see what we could do about the World Cup."

"Forgive me for asking, sir," the aide, a young lieutenant, asked. He'd been fresh out of West Point, top of his class, when he'd been selected for the task force. He was eager to please but had a lot to learn. "I mean no disrespect, but how is it _our_ fight?" He gave Dumbledore an apologetic look. He wasn't pushing against helping, but simply trying to understand what stakes the United States had.

"The international magical community is still having a tough time with the creation of Task Force Ansible. After several successful domestic operations that have pacified a large portion of the United States' magical communities, along with the successful deployment to Hogwarts, we've gone from outrage and hostility in the international community to something more along the lines of a wary distrust," General Thomas replied.

"It has been a tough year for the United States magical community, for different reasons than those of the past," President Harris added. "By legitimizing this Task Force, we have gone against long standing tradition separating magical and muggle communities. It could be, and in many cases _is,_ argued that we have broken the statute of secrecy, though those within the Task Force are signatory to that very statute as well. Many other Ministries will have nothing at all to do with us currently, no diplomatic ties at all. There was even talk of an international effort to invade the United States, though that seems to have been all talk. Things are stable, for now, and if we can improve the image of our cooperation, perhaps we can get back to the international table and get back to trading and being a part of the world." The answer seemed to satisfy the young lieutenant, as he remained quiet.

"Do we have any assets in the area that could be rapidly deployed?" General Thomas asked, getting the meeting back on track.

"Reaper is coming toward the end of an op in north-eastern Africa, depending on if they manage to get any more intel. They have a prior relationship with Harry, we could probably retask them for an FID assignment." Sumner suggested. Foreign Internal Defense meant sending operators into a foreign country and protecting a foreign individual. In this context, it would be a covert assignment and without express permission of the hosting government. Not exactly legal, but that's what SF teams were best at…

"It wouldn't be a tough narrative…" General Thomas trailed off for a moment. "If nothing goes wrong, no one knows any better. Worst case scenario, they're found out and we can say they were on leave and visiting their friends." The general looked to Harris, who nodded in acknowledgment.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said. "As for the Triwizard Tournament, I am afraid it isn't as simple as me inviting you to provide security. The Ministry worked hard this year and is very involved in it. Plus it involves students from two other nations as well, France and Bulgaria. Both Ministries have been following news of the Task Force closely for signs of further breach in of the Statute of Secrecy. I don't know that they would be receptive to security provided by the Task Force."

"I see," General Thomas thought aloud. "I think, that without your invitation, our hands are tied. The best we could do is station a response force at RAF Lossiemouth in case of emergency, but they'd be a couple hours away."

"I appreciate everything you've done so far," Dumbledore bowed his head slightly in respect. "It is a relief not to be the only one fighting for the light."

"Agreed," President Harris said.

"I'll draw up the paperwork and get a sitrep from Reaper by the end of the day," Sumner chimed in. "Anything else?" When nobody said anything, Sumner stood. Everyone else followed and they parted with handshakes and a lot of work to do.


	30. Retasking

AN - Sorry for the delay getting this out, I've just been busy with life and work. The story is still alive and well. I was very excited to see we reached 20k views and almost 100 alerts. For a military/HP fanfiction, I am still blown away by the interest. Thanks for reading everyone!

* * *

The sweltering heat was difficult to get off of the mind. It wasn't just the hot, it was so humid too. A hundred degrees at 1800 hrs, and they were humping around the hills and mountains going from village to village. It was really difficult to remain hydrated when you sweat so much.

It didn't help that they were stuck trying to stay off of the beaten path. GPS made navigation no problem, but the beaten path was beaten for a reason...it was usually the simplest, easiest route. Captain Bradley Gordon and the rest of Reaper team, however, were not exactly welcomed guests of the Burundian Government. That left them doing their very best to steer clear of the local police and military.

There were seldom garrisons in the small villages visited by the Reaper operators, and those that had them were very small and very poorly disciplined. The Cankuzo Provence was the least populated region of Burundi, mostly small farming communities. There were not major strategic resources, and most of the governments political enemies were in the more populous regions. By necessity, that was where the majority of the country's military was as well.

Their task had been a grueling one. The United States had made great strides in cleaning up the gangs of various dark creatures throughout its borders while Reaper team was stationed in the UK. When Reaper made it back home, they were assigned to hunt down one Howard Eden. There was very little in the way of information on the man, but he was suspected of three separate, major incidents in the United States that had cost a total of 82 civilian lives. It was believed that he'd grown up between group homes and they had one picture of him. A tall man, about forty years old, with a smooth, bald head. He'd made it to number one on the most wanted list.

Reaper had tracked him to a small religious community in Kentucky, where the man was leading a cult of muggles as their god/prophet. The fight had been brief, but ultimately Eden had escaped. They tracked him across the boarder into Mexico, where another fight occurred, costing the lives of two operators from Phantom team. Again he eluded capture, that time on a boat.

One month ago, the boat resurfaced in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, spotted by a CIA analyst on a date. Reaper was sent immediately, and they'd tracked him into Burundi. It had been a long month, walking across hilly terrain.

The operators were not _officially_ there, and instead had papers identifying them as nineteen year old private military contractors for Aurora Security Solutions. Aurora was an outfit owned, unofficially, by the US government, and Africa was no stranger to private contractors. Still, they avoided government agencies, who often did not appreciate the presence of privatized fighters in their country.

All of their efforts over the last month had led to their current location, huddled in a clump of trees and bushes a mile from one of the various unnamed farming communities in the area. The last intelligence they'd been able to obtain placed Eden in this area of Burundi. They'd gotten particularly good at bartering for information with the local villages and communities.

Burundi was extremely poor. Eighty percent of the population lived in poverty and their currency, the Franc, was about 1750 to 1 USD. They'd been provided with ten thousand dollars in bribing money, along with a supply of in-demand medications such as Praziquantel for schistosomiasis, which was a particular problem in Burundi, and TDAP vaccinations for children.

The combination had worked well so far, with Reaper coming into town and providing the vaccination and whatever doses of Praziquantel might be required right off hand. It helped put people at ease a bit, mercenary types were often bad news. On top of that, Brad didn't have it in his heart to _not_ provide the treatments to anyone who needed it. After building up goodwill with the community, they'd offer money for information leading to Eden.

Unfortunately, the trail seemed to be going dry. The operators had been right on his tail, no further than a day behind him when they'd entered Burundi. Over the last five days and an exhaustive search of the surrounding villages, nothing had turned up. This last village was their only hope, if the villagers here didn't know anything then the trail was cold.

A rustle in the tree tops knocked Brad from his thoughts. He looked up and saw a small, brownish-red bird diving straight for them. He started to sit up before he realized he was looking at an owl. It landed on a branch next to Mike, offering its leg to him. Brad smiled, the scene was oddly comical. They were sitting in the scorching heat of the jungle and here was an owl. It just looked so out of place. Mike pulled a small wooden bowl from his pack, an ornately carved gift from one of the villagers in Tanzania. Mike filled it with water from his CamelBak and set it on the branch next to him, allowing the owl to rehydrate.

"How's she doing?" Brad asked after Mike had a chance to read the letter. There was only one person it could be from. His girlfriend, Hermione Granger, who he hadn't seen since the end of the school year at Hogwarts, when their deployment to the UK ended. There were no plans in the works to redeploy there, but that didn't stop the duo from staying in contact.

Technically, they were on an operation and that meant being incognito. No sending or receiving mail, things like that. They weren't checking emails, no phone calls or text messages, nothing like that. Owl mail was not, strictly speaking, prohibited during an operation, but that was more due to the operational planners not realizing that owl mail was even a thing. The fact of the matter was, once mail was sent, the owl was going to find its recipient. Owls, though they definitely existed in Africa, were largely considered harbingers of bad luck and were avoided by the locals. Brad didn't think the risk was particularly high if Mike got an owl here and there, and they remained operationally secure. Mike never said where he was or why he was there.

"She's good, man. Sounds like she convinced her parents to do some work on Sirius's mouth, get it fixed up. She's made it through two of the fourth year textbooks already." He chuckled, knowing how very Hermione it was to be reading textbooks during her summer. This was the second letter he'd gotten from her since they deployed to Africa.

"That's good, his teeth were kinda fucked up," Jason laughed. He was sitting on a small, fallen tree and working on cleaning his rifle. It was a not-so-glamorous fact of life that the equipment needed cleaning on a regular basis.

"That sounds like Hermione," Brad agreed. He'd known the girl throughout the last year, and if anyone was a studious person, it was her.

A thrumming drumbeat sounded in the distance. The locals used drums for a variety of different celebrations. While he wasn't familiar enough with the nuances of drumming to figure out what exactly the celebration was for, the fact that they were celebrating _something_ was enough. That meant it wouldn't be a major interruption of their work in the farms, which they'd learned early on was not a way to win favor. They were a poor people largely, and work in the farms kept them fed. Interrupting that work to ask questions had not worked out when they'd first tried.

"Drums," Eric said, having the same thoughts as Brad. "Sounds like a good time to go make contact."

"Agreed. We leave in 10, get your shit packed," Brad said. Jason reassembled his rifle with practiced ease. He'd already finished cleaning the main spots anyway. Eric, who had taken extra training in combat medicine, pulled the TDAP shots and Praziquantel to the top of his kit for ease of access. He'd become the defacto "doc" for the op, considering he had more medical experience than any of them, though it wasn't by much.

Ten minutes later, the team was back out into the sunlight. In the shade, the heat was terrible but manageable. Step out into the sun and Brad figured that you might as well be standing on the surface of the sun. He had perpetual chafing in his armpits and groin and had to admit he looked forward to the end of this op.

They walked slowly and cautiously for the entire mile to the village. The likelihood of ambush was minimal, but carelessness gets one killed. Once they reached the edge of the village, they moved to the only set of bushes in the flat-lands and did a quick last-minute recon using their small drone. It was small enough to fit in the cargo pants pouch of any of the operators, was heavily encrypted to prevent someone else from making off with it, and could fly in a holding pattern for up to three hours. Not bad for a solar powered mini-drone.

There were no hostiles found anywhere, so they did the hardest part of these exercises, stowing their rifles on their backs. It was a simple thing that went a long way toward making them appear less threatening, and they could still quickly access their sidearms. This way, more often than not, someone would actually talk to them, however.

Dusk was rapidly approaching as they stood from behind the bushes and moved toward the village. The drums were still sounding and the locals were more interested in their celebration than the flat-lands around their village. Brad was past the outermost set of huts before he was finally noticed. A small cry of surprise and before long the drums were stopped, everyone standing and looking cautiously at the newcomers. Brad turned to face the closest of them, his arms before him in a non-threatening manner.

"Est-ce que tu parles français?" Brad asked. There were two primary local languages, French and Kirundi. So far, there were more villagers that spoke French and English than those that spoke Kirundi and English, and Brad found he had an easier time picking up French. He had a few basic phrases he could understand, and a small phrasebook that he could use to help interpret responses.

"Mzungu, what are you doing here?" the man asked in intelligible but broken English. Mzungu was a term for those of European descent, generally those with white skin. The speaker stood with his chest out, a challenge to let the newcomers know that problems weren't welcome.

"You speak English?" Brad was genuinely surprised. The last English speaker they'd come across was from a village near Cendajuru. It was a relief when the man cautiously nodded in the affirmative. Brad was...passable with his French, but it took a lot of looking things up and he was much more at home in his native English.

"You have not answered my question." The tall, darkly skinned man furrowed his brow, glancing back and forth between Brad's eyes and his sidearm.

"We're here to trade, and looking for information, nothing more. What's your name?" Brad extended his hand further away from his sidearm. So far, he hadn't seen one rifle among the crowd that was rapidly forming around them.

"I am Nepo. Know this, we are not interested in leaving this land, mercenary." The man, Nepo, eyed the rest of Reaper team. They were clad in the typical mixture of tactical and comfortable that private military contractors were known for, and for exactly that reason. It wouldn't do for anyone to find out that active members of the United States military were operating in Burundi. Still, it made life difficult. Mercenaries weren't known for their philanthropic work and the locals were usually not happy to see them around.

"Nepo, it's good to meet you. I'm Brad. These are my friends, Jason, Mike and Eric." Brad gestured toward each as he named them. "We aren't here for threats or harm, my friend. We just want to do some trading and get a little information if you have it."

Nepo opened his mouth to respond, his expression softening but only slightly. He was cut off by a terrible, high pitched wail from a hut on the other side of the crowd. It was a sound of intense, true pain and it sent a shiver up Brad's spine even in the incredible heat. He reflexively brought his hand toward his sidearm. Nepo glanced back at the hut.

"She is in labor, has been for a while," Nepo answered the unasked question. Before he could elaborate further, a young man came running from the hut.

"Le bébé ne sortira pas, elle est coincée!" he shouted, running to the man standing in front of Brad. He only seemed to notice Brad after coming to a stop, then looked up, wide-eyed. Brad ran the mental translation. It was about the woman in the hut, something about being stuck.

"Everything okay?" Brad asked, knowing it wasn't. He was _really_ asking if they wanted help, but knew better than to phrase it that way. No one wanted to be indebted to mercenaries.

"The baby is stuck," Nepo ran a hand over his bald head, a look of stress on his features.

"I'm guessing the nearest doctor is pretty far away?" Brad asked. There were seldom doctors in these small villages.

"She went in to labor unexpectedly," Nepo replied. "We sent for the doctor but it will be hours before he arrives."

"Eric, let's give a hand." Brad said, not taking his eyes off Nepo, even when Eric sighed. His experience was in combat medicine, not emergency childbirth. "I have a medic, we'd like to help if you'll let us."

"I-" Nepo cut short, weighing the options. She needed help, that much seemed clear. Owing anything to a mercenary was never good though. "We cannot pay you."

"We aren't looking for pay, we will do this freely." Brad hoped that they could use this to build some good will.

"She's in there," Nepo gestured toward the hut. Eric started for it and the rest of the team followed. Jason and Mike stayed outside to talk to the locals while Brad went in with Eric. He figured if he wrangled Eric into an emergency childbirth, he'd best help.

Inside the hut the woman was laying on a bed. There was a stack of towels and a couple buckets of water. She was spread eagled and gripping her husbands hand tightly, in obvious pain. The husband eyed them suspiciously until Nepo entered the tent and gave him a placating look.

"Whooo," Eric huffed, "Heeeeere we go." He set down his pack and took off the combat gloves, replacing them with black medical gloves. He rolled up his sleeves and grabbed a chair, setting it at the end of the bed. "Get the med kit," Eric directed Brad.

"Copy," Brad started into Eric's pack. In everything but medical matters, Brad was in charge. When it came to medicine, however, Eric was the one in charge and rank really didn't matter. It was a necessary power to prevent officers from overruling the medic and putting themselves in danger.

"Thanks," Eric said as Brad set the kit next to him. Eric popped his neck and wiggled his shoulders side to side, trying to prep himself. This was a bit outside his expertise. He cleared his throat and Brad elbowed him gently. Eric made no reply, but sat and took a look under the bedsheet covering her up to her knees.

"Hmm, shit," he said. "Looks like dystocia, kids shoulders are jammed and can't get through." Eric leaned back and closed his eyes, taking himself back to training. They'd not really covered this, but he'd read about it before. There was a maneuver he could do...what was the name…

He struggled to figure it out and she screamed loud again, pushing with the contraction. _Fuck_. The name didn't matter, he remembered. He just needed to get things open more...t _hat's right!_

"Nepo," Eric said, "I need you to tell her...we need to push her legs up to her abdomen, can you tell her?" Nepo rattled off in French and she nodded, a panicked yell came from her when she had another contraction, and she struggled to raise her legs a bit. Eric grabbed underneath her knees and pushed firmly, slowly up toward her chest.

One of the infants shoulders had been jammed behind the symphysis pubis, preventing the normal progression of delivery. Eric knew of two treatments, aside from performing a c-section. First you could hyperflex the legs toward the chest in order to shift things and maybe dislodge the shoulder. If that failed, the next step was to insert a hand into the vagina in order to manually attempt to dislodge the infant. This was, for obvious reasons, not something Eric wanted to do. Glancing down, he saw the crown of the baby's head as it was on its way out, and faster than he expected.

"Shit," he muttered, letting go of her legs and getting a hand underneath the baby's head, guiding it out. _Well, it worked._ The baby slid out and Eric gave it a once over. The skin was pink, and the baby started crying. Thankfully, the husband came to take over. He nodded in thanks as he pulled the baby from Eric's hands. Eric didn't fight it, glad to be done with his part. They could take over from here.

"Let's let them finish up, shall we?" Brad asked. It looked like they were done with the help. Eric and Nepo agreed and followed Brad out of the hut. Nepo nodded at the waiting crowd and they shouted in cheering, drums starting up from somewhere.

"Thank you," Nepo said, looking serious. "What information were you looking for?" Nepo, it seemed, had determined that they weren't hostile, but they still weren't exactly welcome.

"We have some other things we'd like to offer, some vaccinations and medications," Brad replied. Nepo squinted at him suspiciously. "As a thank you for talking to us."

"I see, and in return what do you ask?" Nepo still appeared guarded.

"For the medications, nothing. We are looking for this man," Brad pulled a copy of the only known picture of Howard Eden from his breast pouch. "He's dangerous, hurt a lot of people."

"I'm sorry," Nepo replied. "You're the first mzungu we have seen in months."

"I see," Brad replied with a tight smile. That wasn't the news they were hoping for. "Could we sit down and talk about it some more?" Nepo gestured toward a nearby hut and Brad followed him, his team staying with the celebrating villagers.

Brad showed Nepo his map of the villages in the area, and showed where they'd confirmed Howard Eden had been. Nepo confirmed there were no other villages in the area that he could have gone to. That was it, the trail cold. Nepo received word that the baby girl was healthy and that her mother was doing well. At that news, Nepo invited them to stay for the evening celebratory meal. The entire village would be participating. Brad agreed and thanked them, though he insisted on paying them generously for their hospitality. A few hundred dollars went a long way in the area.

While his team celebrated, Brad went to the edge of the village to call in his report. He was about twenty minutes late for his report, but it was unavoidable. They'd prefer to have the updated information he got during that time anyway.

"Kingpin, this is Reaper." Brad called in on the SatPhone, a satellite linked phone with heavy encryption.

"Good to hear from you, Reaper. What's the situation?" It was a female voice this time. While the callsign for their operational control didn't change, the operator of that callsign was different a lot of times. They were calling a Command and Control center in the continental United States, after all. The work was more flexible at home.

"Trail's cold, Kingpin. This was the last village in the area that might have info on where he went. Anything from the other sources?" Brad knew the CIA had assets in the area that were looking for him as well, along with satellites and signals intelligence.

"Nothing new, Captain. Stand-by one." The line went dead for a moment, and another voice was on the line when it opened again.

"Captain, do you have _any_ other leads?" The man on the other end sounded a lot like Colonel Montgomery, though he couldn't be sure.

"Negative, we're dry here," Brad replied.

"Copy. How soon can you get to Canzuko?" That was the capital of the like-named province they were in. It was about a half day of walking to get there from their current position.

"Half a day, give or take a couple hours," Brad replied. "New intel?" Brad wondered how they'd maintain a low profile taking the guy out inside a city.

"Negative, I'm retasking you to an FID op. Get to Canzuko ASAP. There will be an asset, Jones, to meet you. He'll take your equipment and get you to Bujumbura International Airport. He'll have your plane number and tickets and you'll be briefed on the flight."

"Copy that," Brad said. FID or Foreign Internal Defense meant they would be operating as bodyguards inside a foreign country. It was an operation pulled often by other special forces teams, but TFA wasn't usually assigned things like that. They could do it, but it was a strange operation. "Reaper team, out."

He relayed their orders to the rest of the team. They decided to stay and eat, get some water and things before starting toward Canzuko. It was going to be a long walk, but at least it would be a bit cooler at night and they were going to want that energy and rest.


	31. Back to the Burrow

AN - Hey there folks, sorry for the delay in updates. It's been a zoo lately, had an MVA while the wife was pregnant and we had our second daughter a week or so later(all healthy!), in addition to the writers block. I have the next chapter complete awaiting edits and I'm working on the one after that. I can't promise weekly updates to the story or anything, but the story is far from dead. Hope you all enjoy!

* * *

Harry sat down on a small bench, his trunk next to him. The street before him was busy, something not altogether surprising for downtown London. He was waiting for Mr. Weasley, who was going to use his lunch break getting him to the Burrow, where he would be staying for the rest of the summer vacation.

Mr. Weasley had been fortunate enough to win a Ministry of Magic contest, the grand prize being ten tickets to the Quidditch World Cup. The World Cup would start in three days and he couldn't help the bubbling excitement. Most of the Weasley family would be going, and Hermione even said she'd be there. Sirius had been invited too, but declined. He had made a lot of progress since his release from Azkaban, but still wasn't feeling up to such a large-scale event.

Living with Sirius the last couple of months had been the most enjoyable time at "home" he'd ever experienced. It's the first time he ever _felt_ like he was at home. He'd come close at The Burrow and in Gryffindor tower, but this was different. Nowhere in the house did he feel out of place. Even Kreacher was starting to tolerate them. He could go anywhere, do anything...within reason of course. Sirius was a lot of fun to be around as well, especially as he got more and more comfortable with being out of prison.

That wasn't to say it was without work. Sirius was nothing if not adamant about his studying. Polar opposite of the Dursleys, Sirius insisted that, not only would he do his homework and studying, he would continue the physical training started by Capt. Gordon during the previous school year _and_ he would be doing extracurricular study in Defense Against the Dark Arts during the summer.

Sirius was no slouch. He was formerly a member of an organization called the Order of the Phoenix, a militia formed by witches and wizards that fought against Voldemort and his Death Eaters during their time. Sirius didn't say much about it, but given his command of defensive and offensive magic, it was clear that they'd been a force to be reckoned with.

"Harry." The voice of Mr. Weasley pulled Harry from his thoughts. The tall, red headed patriarch of the Weasley family was walking up briskly. "Good to see you, m'boy." Harry stood to greet him, receiving a firm handshake. It was one of the man's best qualities, he never treated Harry like a child.

"How are you, Mr. Weasley?" It had been nearly a year since Harry had last seen him. He got updates about the family from Ron, of course, but it was just not the same as talking _to_ someone.

"Busy as ever, I'm afraid!" he exclaimed, pointing a finger in the air. "What with all of the international..." he cut himself off, seeming to think the better of whatever he was going to say. "Well, anyway, we'd better be off. I don't have long."

"Sure," Harry said, looking around. He didn't see the car that Mr. Weasley had enchanted, giving it the capability of flight. Ron told him that, after almost a year of lurking around the Dark Forest at Hogwarts, the car had returned to The Burrow. Ron said that his dad had spent a few hours trying to get the car to stay still so he could make a few repairs. "Er, how are we getting there?"

"Have you ever heard of apparition?" Mr. Weasley asked, smiling wryly at the distasteful look on Harry's face at the mention of it. "I'll take it you're familiar."

"Sirius and I did it once, a few months ago..." Harry trailed off, remembering the unpleasant sensation of being pressed in on all sides and forced into a tiny volume of space.

"It gets easier, Harry," he said reassuringly. "Shall we get it over with?"

"Right." Harry grabbed his trunk and stepped next to Mr. Weasley.

"Hold on tight, we don't want to go splinching anything." Mr. Weasley held out his arm for Harry to grab and sat there for a moment before he realized that Harry had not yet grabbed on.

"Splinching?" Harry asked, a look of genuine concern on his face.

"Er… Nothing to worry about, you'll learn all about it in a bit...from school of course. Well, grab hold." Harry did as he was told, and felt the familiar jerking twist, and the painful compression coming at him from all sides. It pressed harder and harder until he thought he couldn't take it any longer, then all of the pressure was gone as suddenly as it came.

He managed to stay on his feet this time, much to his surprise. He was immediately greeted by the scent of some kind of heavy food being cooked, along with the loud chatter of several simultaneous conversations all competing for attention.

He couldn't help a half smile. It almost seemed like he'd never left. _This_ was among his first homey memories. Living with Sirius at Grimmauld was, without a doubt, home. Yet, it couldn't erase the Burrow from his mind as the first place he'd felt the love and attention of a family.

Mrs. Weasley took a break from her multi-tasking in the kitchen when she heard the soft _pop_ of Mr. Weasley and Harry apparating in. She'd been cooking, directing the dishes to wash themselves, trying to set the table, and attempting to read a book that was hovering over the counter.

"Oh, Harry, dear!" she exclaimed, giving him a peck on the cheek as she wrapped him in an embrace. It wasn't something he'd gotten used to yet, but he was getting there. Motherly affection was a nice feeling. She shifted over to her husband and gave him a warm embrace and a kiss. "I have something for you."

"Is that right?" Arthur mused as his wife darted back to the kitchen. She returned with a container of pan haggerty. It was among Arthur's favorite meals and he beamed at his wife when he realized what she'd made for him.

"Harry!" Ron shouted, giving his friend a pat on the back. "Good to see you, mate!" Several of the nearby conversations died down at Ron's shout. Soon Harry was being greeted by the whole Weasley brood.

It was a whirlwind as Harry rapidly exchanged personal greetings with each of them. Ginny, after squeaking a "hello," had darted upstairs. Fred and George were grinning wildly and trying hard not to look in the direction of the kitchen. Harry got the impression that they'd planned a little something.

Charlie shook his hand firmly with rough hands, no doubt borne from years of handling dragons. A part of Harry thought it was really cool, and a larger part thought of it as insane. Bill, while certainly softer, still seemed...cool. His long hair was pulled back in a ponytail that on others he'd likely have thought looked hilarious. Bill pulled it off though.

The twins wore matching grins and Harry could tell it meant mischief. They were excellent at covering up, but Harry noticed how they kept eyeing their mother while she didn't pay attention. She gave her husband another kiss and he apparated away. She fiddled with her hair as she got back to the kitchen.

There was a whistling sound as the pot of food she was cooking alerted her to its completion. She picked up her wand and waived it, dropping it with a cry of surprise as it squeaked at her and turned into a fake mouse.

"FRED! GEORGE!" she cried out, furious. She scrambled about the kitchen to find her wand as the whistling got louder, more insistent. She found her wand and waived it, moving the pot from the stove.

"Erm, that's our cue," Ron said as his mother rounded from the kitchen on her two twins. The two of them headed upstairs as Fred and George tried to banter their way from their mother's ire.

Upstairs, Percy poked his head out of his room. He was, for some reason, still dressed in his official Ministry robes and wore a pedantic expression on his face. "Do you mind? I'll never get anything done with all this racket!"

"He's finishing a top secret project for the Ministry," Ron explained, trying to hide a grin. Percy scowled at his younger brother.

"It's no secret that imported cauldrons are a little thinner than our more standard ones. Leaks are increasing at a rate of-" Percy started, but was cut off by Ron again.

"That'll be front page news, I expect." He splayed his hands in front of his face, as though unraveling a newspaper. "MINISTRY SOLVES WORST CRIME SINCE GRINDELWALD, thin cauldrons!" Percy sighed and slammed his door.

"Do you really have to go antagonizing him?" The voice of his closest female friend appeared behind him. He turned and saw Hermione walking toward them. Her formerly bushy hair hung down at her shoulders, more or less straightened. It was a habit she'd picked up last year at school, when she'd had a reason to care about her appearance.

"He brings it on himself, really," Ron laughed.

"It's good to see you, Harry." Hermione made a point of ignoring Ron, who was defending his childish antics.

"It's good to see you, too," Harry replied. "Sirius wanted me to thank you for having your parents work on his teeth. He said he feels like a whole new man."

"Of course," she waived off the thanks. It really hadn't been tough, though her parents commented several times that the state of his teeth were worse than they'd seen in quite a few years. "It was their pleasure."

"I think Sophia appreciated it too," Harry noted. "She and Sirius have been spending a fair bit of time together." Hermione smiled and Ron laughed. Sirius spent at least one or two evenings a week at the restaurant until he finally worked up the nerve to ask his favorite server on a date. Harry thought his godfather was going to run laps when she said yes, he was so giddy.

"He works fast, really," he said. He led the trio to his room and sat on his bed. Harry sat next to his friend while Hermione pulled up a chair from next to Ron's desk. It was likely meant for doing schoolwork, but the only parchment there had Quidditch stats.

"So, have you heard from them?" Harry asked. He'd received a letter from Brad early on in the summer and hadn't heard anything since. Hermione straightened slightly, obviously the pain of having to separate from Mike was still fresh.

"Yes, I've talked back and forth with Mike a bit," she replied. They'd parted ways at the end of the last school year, and while they hadn't broken up they knew that it was likely that they wouldn't see each other again. Not for a very long time, anyway. "He obviously can't tell me much about what they're doing, but they sound good."

"Good, I'm glad," Harry said. They caught up for a little bit, going over their last few months. Harry filled them in on his new home and how living with Sirius was. They'd spent a lot of time clearing out some unwelcome guests from Grimmauld Place, mostly pests and a boggart.

Ginny fetched them after a while and led them down to dinner. It was large informal ordeal out in the garden. Mrs. Weasley explained that the house was too crowded with the whole family and guests present.

After dinner they all retired for the night. Harry went to Ron's room, Hermione stayed with Ginny, Bill stayed with Charlie in his old room, and poor Fred and George had to share a room with Percy. They were quite vocal about their complaints, but Mrs. Weasley wasn't hearing it after the fake wand incident earlier that day. Harry suspected that it might have partly been a punishment. When he finally fell asleep it was with a smile on his face.

* * *

The next morning Harry woke to the clinking of dishes downstairs. A glance outside told him it was morning and he was sure that Mrs. Weasley was cooking something for breakfast. He sat up and put on his glasses, the world becoming much clearer.

He thought for a moment about not doing his morning exercises but decided against it. It was a routine that was paying off for him. He noticed he was starting to show some defined muscle in his abdomen and arms.

Reluctantly, he threw on a pair of shorts and his tank top and headed downstairs. He found Mrs. Weasley, along with Hermione and Ginny, cooking breakfast. Ginny was carefully stirring eggs at the direction of her mother as Hermione tended to the eggs and bacon.

"Good mor-" Mrs. Weasley started, stopping short when she saw what Harry was wearing. She gave him a questioning look.

"Good morning," he finished. "Just getting ready for some exercise. It's a habit." Ginny looked up from her eggs, blushing brightly at the sight of him in his exercise clothes. They revealed a little more of him thea his normal robes did. In her momentary distraction she accidentally scooped some of the eggs out and onto the stove.

Harry pretended not to notice the ordeal as he headed outside to work out. It was cool outside and at first he felt like he'd made a mistake wearing the shorts and tank top. After he'd run for a little bit though, he felt better. He ran out to a nearby clutch of trees and back a few times until he was out of breath. Afterward, he went back and forth between sets of push ups, pull ups, and crunches.

Half an hour later he was finished and went back inside. He opted to go straight upstairs for a shower before eating, knowing he couldn't possibly smell good. By the time he headed back downstairs everyone was up and eating. Ron looked groggy as ever, though he worked through a heaping plate of eggs and bacon.

Harry helped himself to the full breakfast of eggs, bacon and sausage. As he'd been growing to expect, he found himself ravenous after the workout. After a few moments of quiet eating Ron was finally awake enough to speak up.

"I can't wait, we leave for Dartmoor tomorrow," he said between mouthfuls of eggs. It took Harry a brief second. That's where they were holding the Quidditch World Cup. "Bulgaria is going to kick Ireland's tail!"

"Not bloody likely," Fred countered. "There's no one on the Bulgarian team that can match Ireland's chasers."

"Bulgaria has Krum!" Ron replied. Krum was the Seeker and Harry had heard a lot about him. Young in comparison to many of the other Quidditch players, he'd been responsible for a lot of the victories that made their chance at the World Cup possible.

"One good seeker does not a good team make," George chimed in. The argument was in earnest and Harry listened as the merits of each team were presented and picked apart by the brothers. Harry completed a plate and a half food before finally slowing down. Mrs. Weasley was busy busing plates to the kitchen when there was a rap at the door.

The conversation died down as they'd not expected company. Mrs. Weasley took it in stride, though she was too busy to get the door herself.

"Hermione, dear, would you be so kind as to get that?" She put dishes in the sink, mumbling something about it probably being the Daily Prophet about their winning the Quidditch tickets. Hermione didn't reply, instead just heading over and opening the door. With a squeal, she launched herself out the door.


	32. To the Games

AN - Sorry for the small update, I was just focusing on getting something out. This one is a little bit longer. Hope you folks enjoy!

* * *

"This really is a lot nicer," Eric said as the four of them walked along a narrow road. It was a cool morning and the group was walking on pavement, a significant improvement over the oppressive heat and uneven footing of their last several weeks in Africa.

"No sun trying to kill us...no bugs trying to kill us...no people trying to kill us...yeah, I can dig it," Mike said, slapping away a branch that was in his path. The hedges growing along either side of the road were almost oppressive, and it made them a little uneasy. After several weeks in hostile territory, it was difficult to give up their habits. They were once again in friendly territory, but getting out of a fighter's mindset wasn't an easy thing.

"Yeah, couldn't get rid of the ruck though," Jason said, hefting his backpack. They were large civilian duffel bags, and the interior was stuffed with their gear. The operators had fit their plate carriers, helmets, ammunition, and disassembled rifles into the duffles, stuffed with extra uniforms to keep it from looking weird from the outside.

They looked like hikers rather than tourists, but that wasn't _entirely_ uncommon in this area. Devon, England had seen its share of American tourists eager to go out and hike the nature trails, only to realize their trip landed them more in farm country than anything else. Most got a cab to take them elsewhere, but there were always a few each year that stubbornly stuck to walking.

They'd flown in to Exeter Airport and gotten off of their airplane in civilian clothes. Brad was wearing blue jeans and a black polo, an olive green jacket over top and a tan baseball hat. He had spent so long trying to blend with the environment that he couldn't wrap his head around wearing bright colors. He could only justify going so far to blend in with the locals.

He shifted his shoulder holster uncomfortably. He'd never been a fan of the concealed carry, especially right underneath his armpit. Yeah they did the job, but he felt much more comfortable with his handgun on his hip or leg. Instead, he carried his HK USP underneath his left arm where it would be a little more difficult for someone to spot it.

"Car," Jason said lazily, and they all shifted as close to the hedges on one side as they could. It had become a routine since they'd left the taxi in Ottery St Catchpole. It wouldn't be a good idea to take the taxi all the way to a wizarding home. One could only imagine what the driver would see. So instead, they opted to take the roads out to "The Burrow" on foot. It was a strange title for a home, and it gave Brad the image of a small shack that opened up underground, a family of mole-people living in it.

He knew it was an absurd mental image, and yet it stuck. He was hugging the side of the road with the rest of the team when a car drove past them, back toward town. So far, there had been zero traffic going away from Ottery St Catchpole.

Once the car made it past them, Brad pulled his SOLDA device from his pocket, checking the GPS for progress. Normally he'd wear it on his wrist, but in this case it would be a dead giveaway that he was military. It had that rugged, efficient, military look to it. No aesthetic taken into consideration. That was fine in the field of battle, but maybe not so much when you're behind friendly lines without much permission.

"What's the good word?" Mike asked, having seen Brad check the GPS.

"As soon as we find a break in the hedge, to the left, we can head through. Another mile after that and we should be there." They walked silently, enjoying the peace and quiet that was only interrupted by sounds of nature. They found a spot and crept through the hedges before setting across the field.

Fields, plural, would have been more accurate. The first was, of course, a cow pasture. The large grazing animals could not have cared less about the interlopers, but it forced the operators to slow down to avoid stepping in manure. It wouldn't do to show up at the Weasley home smelling like a sewer.

In the end, they'd had to hop two fences and scale another hedgerow before finally making it to The Burrow. It was nothing like what Brad had imagined. Rather than digging underground, it stretched upward. It had a cobbled, unstable look to it that made him wonder about the structural integrity.

They walked quickly to the front door and heard the clamoring of a mealtime inside. The smell of eggs and bacon wafted through open windows, and against his wishes, Brad's stomach growled. It had been quite a while since he'd eaten regular food, not that MRE bullshit they'd brought with them. He didn't count the food that the African tribesmen prepared either; it was too strange and different for him to really think of it in the same class as eggs and bacon.

Mike stepped forward and rapped on the door. "Here goes nothing, eh?" There was a shuffling inside as someone came to the door and opened it. It was Hermione, and there was only the briefest hesitation as she registered what she was seeing. She looked at Mike and tears welled in her eyes as she squealed in delightful surprise, jumping out the door to embrace him.

He hugged her back tightly for a long moment. Inside the chatter died down. It occurred to Brad that no one inside knew what was happening, blocked by the door as they were. He stepped past the reunited pair and into the home.

"Hey, we made it," he said, seeing several familiar, and many unfamiliar faces.

"Brad!" Harry exclaimed, jumping out of his seat. Ron stood as well to greet him. "This is Capt. Gordon, from last year," Harry explained to the others. By that point, Mike, Hermione and the rest of the team had stepped through the doorway.

"That wasn't fair," Hermione said, wiping away her eyes. "Surprising us like that..." They weren't tears of joy or sorrow, just overwhelming emotion. She truly hadn't expected to see him again.

"It's wonderful to meet you, dear," Mrs. Weasley said graciously, still looking a little confused. "I'm afraid we weren't expecting you." As if to punctuate this, there was a loud _snap_ as Mr. Weasley appeared in the dining room. He rushed to his wife, ignoring all else.

"Molly," he said, grabbing her hand to get her attention. "I only just got word...Dumbledore has sent for several of the muggle soldiers from last-" Mr. Weasley drew off as his wife looked pointedly toward the front door. When he looked over and saw the four newcomers he sighed. "Ah, a little late then."

"Perhaps a little," Mrs. Weasley said. "Now, why did Dumbledore send for them?"

"He wants them to accompany us to the Quidditch Cup. A little added protection for Harry, by the sound," Mr. Weasley said. There was another _pop_ as Percy appeared beside his father in the kitchen.

"Bad news, I'm afraid," he said. "Dumbledore went and invited a bunch of _muggle_ soldiers to stay with us, can you believe it?" He sounded incredulous.

"Well, we don't mean to intrude," Brad said, loud and clear. Percy whirled around and spotted them.

"Oh, I-" Percy scrambled to find something diplomatic to say, but Brad interrupted. He had no patience for faux diplomacy.

"We are here to escort Mr. Potter here to the game and back," Brad gestured toward Harry. "We'll do our best not to intrude and please, let us know if there is something we can do to pull our weight while we're here."

"Of course, I'll just have a word with my husband," Mrs. Weasley said, taking her husband aside. She spoke in hushed tones but years of struggling to make herself heard in a rowdy house showed, and her words were clear as day. "Dumbledore thinks _soldiers_ are necessary? What does he think is going to happen there?"

"I spoke with him about just that," Mr. Weasley said. "He's got no reason to think something is going to happen but he's reviewed the Ministry security precautions for the event. You know how cautious he likes to be, and he just wants to make sure Harry is safe."

"I don't know, Arthur," his wife sighed. "It just feels like last time, when _he_ was coming to power..."

"We're going to be fine, dear," Mr. Weasley squeezed his wife's shoulders reassuringly and kissed her forehead. He then turned to the newcomers. "You're quite welcome, though I'm afraid we are reaching the capacity of our home."

"That won't be an issue, sir," Brad said. Mr. Weasley had a pensive look on his face, as though he was looking for some way to fit four more individuals in the house. "My team and I are very comfortable sleeping outside."

"Oh, surely that won't be necessary," Mrs. Weasley looked horrified at the idea and looked to her husband for support. Before he could speak, however, Brad continued.

"We've been on an extended deployment for the last several weeks and I can assure you we are as comfortable outside as you are inside." Brad noticed his three teammates nodding in assent. He was pretty certain that this house couldn't possibly fit four more people without causing a lot of resentment, and he was already feeling bad for dropping in unexpected.

"If you're certain," Mrs. Weasley said. She still wore a look that spoke of discomfort.

"We insist," Brad replied, "We're not here to be a burden." Brad turned to Ron, noticing that he, Harry, and Hermione had finished their breakfasts. "I don't suppose you could show us around outside so we know what we're dealing with."

"Sure." Ron jumped up. "We'll just be outside for a bit." They worked their way outside, allowing the rest of the Weasley's to discuss the newcomers in private. It was also a good chance to catch up.

"I still can't believe you're here," Hermione said as they made it to the garden.

"Yeah, me either." Mike tried to keep the smile off his face. They were walking at the rear of the group, Hermione's arm wrapped in his as she leaned against him comfortably.

"Should've guessed it," Jason said. "I mean, who else was it gonna be?" They'd speculated throughout the first half of the flight about who they could possibly be protecting in Britain, of all places. All of them felt a little foolish when they heard it'd be Harry and the gang.

"Hindsight's twenty-twenty, Jason." Brad came to a stop when Ron did. They were in the middle of the garden, close to the house but not too close. The small patch they were in was reasonably flat, considering the hills and tall grass that spread in every other direction.

"This is probably the easiest spot to sleep," Ron said, then getting a thoughtful look. "But, you might have to deal with some garden gnomes."

"We can do that," Brad replied.

Ron showed them the whole property, inside and out, before they settled in the Quidditch pitch to catch up. They talked about the happenings of the summer so far. Ron filled them in on his dad winning the Ministry contest; Harry told them about his summer at Grimmauld Place and living with Sirius. When Harry brought up Sophia, Eric buried his face in his hands as the others laughed, and he received a solid punch in the shoulder.

"I told you!" Jason laughed, "I _told_ you!"

"How!?" Eric cried out in mock agony. "He was in prison!"

"That guy was _so_ a ladies man!" Jason said.

"There was a little bet going, if you guys hadn't guessed it." Brad filled the others in on the declassified version of their summer.

Hermione and Mike were barely a part of the conversation as a whole. They spent the entire time chatting between themselves. It seemed like they'd picked up where they left off, as though it'd only been yesterday that the team had departed.

They talked and caught up for the rest of the day. Harry and Ron sparked a pickup Quidditch match involving almost the entire family. Ron, Bill, Fred and George were on one team against Harry and Charlie, and much to her surprise, Ginny. It had been decided that Charlie, as an ex-Gryffindor Captain and Harry as the current seeker were the ones everyone wanted to beat. Two people did not make a team though, and Ginny was added to help even the teams out.

They had a partially deflated soccer ball that was used as a makeshift Quaffle. The match went on for quite some time, and really it only ended because it was getting dark enough that seeing the 'Quaffle' was proving challenging. Harry had to give Ginny credit, she made a mean keeper. Of course, his praise left her face nearly as red as her hair. By the end of it no one had a clear idea who had won, but everyone was exhausted and ravenous.

At dinner Brad got the chance to learn a little about the Weasley family. He found out that Mr. Weasley and Percy both worked at the Ministry, though only one of them thought highly of himself because of it. Bill, he learned, was a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts bank, working in Egypt.

"You wouldn't _believe_ the kinds of things the Egyptians thought up!" Bill exclaimed when Brad had inquired about the job. "Incredibly creative, that bunch was."

"Level with me, are mummy's real?" Mike asked, taking a large bite of potatoes.

"Dude, mummy's are _obviously_ real," Eric replied before Bill could answer. "They're in museums, that is straight fact."

"Eric..." Mike closed his eyes in mock exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose. " _Obviously,"_ he said, repeating the same tone, "I am talking about _living_ mummy's." Bill laughed in good nature.

"Yeah, actually. Harmless for the most part, unless you stumble on a particularly powerful one." Bill's gaze shifted as he recalled an encounter. "There was one outside of Elkab...well, Gringotts doesn't like us talking too much detail about it all, but let's just say it took four of us just to trap the thing back in its temple. Sealed the thing, more trouble than it was worth."

"That's nuts!" Mike exclaimed. The childlike grin on his face was contagious. "I can't even imagine fighting a mummy..." he trailed off, content to imagine the scenario as the conversation went on.

The rest of the dinner consisted of answering questions for Mr. Weasley. It turned out that he had developed a significant interest in muggle technology, while simultaneously fostering a near complete lack of understanding. Flashlights boggled his mind and he had a lot of questions about batteries. After the meal he and Brad continued the discussion about muggle items. He spent almost half an hour explaining the way a firearm worked and, though he couldn't explain how or why it worked, he allowed Mr. Weasley to try on his helmet to look through the night optics.

"That's absolutely _incredible!"_ he marveled. "It's awfully green but I can see as sure as day!" He waved his hand back and forth in front of his face, smiling from ear to ear.

"It gives us quite an edge at night," Brad said, accepting the helmet back when Mr. Weasley was satisfied.

"I should think so." He was still grinning when he looked around and noticed that everyone else had headed inside. "Well, I suppose we'd better get some rest. It's an early day tomorrow."

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea. We will be ready when you are," Brad said. They parted ways and Brad met the rest of his team in the garden.

"I swear I'm gonna kill that little bastard," Jason said, eyeing a nearby bush.

"Having issues?" Brad tried to see what Jason was looking at, but couldn't find it.

"Those gnomes, man." Mike said. He, too, was eyeing a bush. "They have a wicked bite, and they're _fast."_ Mike made the mistake of looking at Brad when he spoke and, sure enough, a small, potato-headed looking creature darted out from the bush and bit Mike on the hand. He swore, but was in luck. Eric had been paying attention and swung his baton, catching the little thing in the back of the head and toppling it over.

"Take that!" Eric cried out in victory. The gnome was helped up by its fellow from the bush next to Jason and they limped off away from the garden.

"Little bitch," Mike said, nursing his hand.

"Get some rest, guys." Brad rolled out his sleeping bag. "Gonna be an early one tomorrow."

* * *

Brad woke up at first light the following morning. Jason was pulling security, though that was more out of habit than any real threat they expected. It simply felt wrong to sleep outside without someone pulling security. Brad woke the other two and they set about their morning tasks.

Brad pulled on a pair of blue jeans and threw on a sandstone undershirt that he usually wore with his MultiCam uniform. It worked as a regular shirt though, he thought. He pulled on a tan Oakley hat that he bought back home. After eyeing the shoulder holster with distaste, he put it on, silently wishing the op called for full gear. Once the holster was in place, he put a gray jacket on that was fitted just perfectly to keep his holster out of view.

"Done getting ready, diva?" Mike asked as Brad adjusted the sleeves to his jacket. Brad looked up and, sure enough, the others were all ready.

"Can it," Brad said with a grin, eyeing his team. They were all dressed in combinations of matte colors. It was a bit of a lost cause, trying to prevent them from looking military. Though they were obviously too young, it was in the way they carried themselves. Still, it was better than camo and vests.

It wasn't long before the lights were on inside the home. Mr. Weasley had been serious about the early start, but that was par for the course as far as the operators were concerned. While they waited for the rest of the party to be ready, the operators double checked their weapons, fidgeted with holsters to make them comfortable, and checked their micro-bud radios.

A single earpiece and a flesh colored throat mike that kept them in contact with one another. It started transmitting after the word "Reaper" to keep them from going crazy listening to four conversations at once. It was a newer piece of tech that their CIA contact had on-board the plane, "tactically acquired" by Mike. As he'd explained it, it was the operatives fault for having his secure storage open, really.

"Sweet merciful Jesus," Mike whispered, catching Brad's attention. Mr. Weasley had emerged proudly from his house, sporting yellow and red plaid golfing sweater and a ratty pair of jeans that were several sizes too big, all held up by a ridiculous looking leather belt. On his back was a pink backpack with daisies on it.

"I've studied muggles enough to know their attire, you see," Mr. Weasley was apparently carrying on a conversation from inside. His boys nodded a half-hearted agreement, almost all of them still at least partially asleep. "Where are the girls, then?" Harry made a throat cutting motion as Brad opened his mouth to ask about the outfit.

"Here," Ginny chimed in cheerfully. She and Hermione emerged from the door, looking almost as energetic as Mr. Weasley.

"Right," he said, pulling his large parchment tickets from a pocket that was too small to house them. "Looks like everything is in order. Shall we?"

Brad motioned for Jason and Eric to take the lead with Mr. Weasley while he stayed back with Mike. He wasn't surprised to see Ginny and Hermione step in alongside him as well.

"Where're Bill and Charlie?" Ron asked sleepily, only just noticing their absence.

"Well, they're apparating, aren't they?" Mr. Weasley answered, as though it was the simplest thing in the world. "Won't take but a moment, so they're sleeping in."

"Why can't we apparate?" Ron almost whined it, earning a shove from his little sister.

"Because you're not of age, of course." Mr. Weasley seemed unfazed by the attitude of his son. "Come on, it's a bit of a walk."

"Wait," Ron had a look of horror, "we're _walking?"_

"Well, just to the Portkey." It took a few steps before Mr. Weasley realized that most of the group hadn't understood what he was talking about. "Almost a hundred thousand wizards show up for the Cup, see? Problem is, we don't have a magical site big enough to accommodate that many people, so we just pick a pretty empty spot and set up as many anti-muggle charms as we can. Then, most people show up by apparating or Portkeys."

"And what exactly _is_ a Portkey?" Harry asked, saving Brad the trouble.

"Oh it's an enchanted bit of rubbish usually, something unobtrusive. Don't want the muggles picking them up. The magic of it is a bit complex I'm afraid, but it takes you from one place to another, then back."

"Contact, right," Eric said coolly over the radio. "Two males, top of the hill." Brad shifted his gaze to the spot while Mike checked behind them and to the left, out of habit. Keeping your head on a swivel was a matter of life or death on deployment and right now, they considered themselves deployed. Even in a friendly country, you couldn't be too safe.

"AMOS!" Mr. Weasley shouted, startling the entire group. Brad caught himself reaching toward his sidearm reflexively at the sudden shout, but stopped himself. _Relax,_ he thought, _don't get jumpy._

"Dude, seriously..." Mike whispered as they got a good view of the newcomers. The older one was wearing a bright blue shirt and red pants, with a nearly fluorescent orange coat over-top. Harry, who was nearby, chimed in quietly.

"I've talked to Mr. Weasley about it. They really don't pay much attention to muggle society, and have _no_ idea how to dress like one."

"I'll say," Mike snickered.

The figures at the top of the hill descended toward them and soon Mr. Weasley was firmly shaking hands with the older of the two. "Good to see you, old friend." He turned toward the rest of them. "Amos Diggory, he works with me at the Ministry. And his son, Cedric, I presume." The younger one nodded in affirmation.

"I heard you won the contest, good work!" The man, Amos, if Brad had put two and two together correctly, looked at the group. "All these yours?"

"Just the redheads," Mr. Weasley smiled. "These are friends of ours." He gestured toward the four operators in turn. "Brad, Mike, Jason and Eric. And, of course, Harry and Hermione."

"Merlin's Beard!" Amos announced, taking a closer look at Harry. "Mr. Potter, it is a pleasure. Ced's talked about you, of course. I've told him, that'll be a story. Beating _Harry Potter_ at Quidditch." Amos turned with Mr. Weasley and started off. The group moved to stay with them and Cedric gave Harry an apologetic look.

It wasn't a terribly long walk before they found themselves atop a hill with a great view of Ottery St Catchpole, where they found an old boot.

"Well, everyone, here we are." Mr. Weasley gestured to the boot. "Everyone needs to be touching the boot, a finger will do." They crowded around it, a difficult maneuver due to their numbers. The backpacks on the operators, Mr. Weasley and the two Diggory's didn't help either.

"Here goes!" Mr. Weasley announced, eyeing his watch. "Three, two-" Brad felt something grab him in his gut and yank him forward. He smacked into Mike and Harry on either side of him and all he could see was a swirl of color. He felt like he was being accelerated toward the ground, the wind whistling past his ear. Then, as suddenly as it started, he felt his feet hit the ground and he crumpled.


	33. Quidditch Cup

AN - Sorry for the delays getting these out folks, but I am indeed working to finish the story. Enjoy!

* * *

Brad stayed still for a moment, going through the mental checklist to make sure nothing was broken. He felt other bodies trying to untangle from him and, satisfied that nothing was missing, he got up. With a frown Brad noted that Mr. Weasley and both Diggorys had managed to maintain themselves upright. Judging by the grins on their faces, the tangled mess he found himself in was _not_ the way Portkey travel regularly went.

"What a ride!" Mike exclaimed, swiping at the leaves and twigs that had hitched a ride on his clothes. Brad helped Harry onto his feet and helped swipe his clothes clean as well. When they were all standing, Brad noticed a pair of individuals walking toward them.

"Names?" The man that spoke wore a plaid kilt and poncho with what looked suspiciously like a garter belt, though Brad adamantly refused to investigate that further. His partner wore a tweed suit that was several sizes too big, and he had to keep hiking his pants up as he walked. Mike let out a huff at the sight and Brad elbowed him. The last thing they needed was to call attention to their expertise in muggle life.

"Weasley," the family patron replied cheerily.

"Arthur, you're not on, then?" The kilted man scanned his scroll for the name, talking tiredly as he did. "You're lucky, really. It's been an absolute zoo...ah, Weasley. First field here, down at the end." He handed a small map with a grid on it marking their spot.

"Good luck to you boys," Mr. Weasley said as they shifted their attention to the Diggory's. With a wave of goodbye to them, the group was on the move. Eric and Jason took the lead again, following the direction of the two insanely dressed wizards at the Portkey site.

The walk wasn't short but the time was occupied in good company as they walked through the woods. After about twenty minutes of walking, they finally cleared the woods and headed into the moor. There was a long hill that blocked their initial view of the campground, but it did little to slow them down.

They crested the hill and before them lay the impressive sight of a wizarding campground. The group slowly worked its way down the hill, taking in the sights. A large number of tents had chimneys sticking out and those were among the less blatantly magical ones. The one closest to them was nearly three stories tall and more closely resembled a castle than a tent.

Outside the tent were a pair of wizards in an argument. One was dressed in the regular Ministry garb, and the other was an elderly wizard with a long, wispy beard and bony features. He was wearing an oriental dress with his long hair pulled back in a bun behind his head with chopsticks.

Mike grabbed Brad by the elbow on sight of the argument, letting out a brief, pained grunt, as though not commenting on it was causing him physical discomfort. They edged past the scene, incapable of missing the conversation.

"You _have_ to change!" the Ministry wizard insisted, thrusting a pair of pants and shirt toward the preposterously dressed one.

"I'll have none of it!" he exclaimed. "I bought these in a genuine _muggle_ shop." He smoothed the edges of the unfortunately form-fitting dress.

"For _women,_ man. Women wear dresses..." The Ministry official was clearly at wits end. Sadly, their walk brought them out of earshot.

Brad kept his eyes peeled, working on memorizing the layout of the camp and where the Portkey site was in relation to their campsite. He knew his team was doing the same, even as Mike made strangled grunting noises the deeper they made it into the camp. They passed all the way to the other side before finally coming to a stop.

"Right, here we are," Mr. Weasley said. "Couldn't have a better spot, either. The field is just on the other side of these woods here!"

It took them almost an hour and a half to get the tents set up. Mr. Weasley had borrowed two tents from a fellow at the Ministry, Perkins. At Mr. Weasley's insistence, they were to set up the tents without magic. He seemed oblivious to the rampant magical goings-on and was determined to get "the full muggle experience."

Unfortunately for the younger Weasley's, their father was flat determined to get the tents set up without muggle assistance. It became apparent that the man was a little in over his head when he started using the stake mallet to try and hammer the poles into the tent. He had no idea what he was doing, but he was doing it enthusiastically. In the end, he relented and allowed the operators to help set up the tents. With their experience, it only took a few minutes and the tents were ready.

"Well, we'd better get ours set up," Brad said as the wizards mused at their temporary dwellings. They looked like a pair of two person tents, one slightly bigger than the other. Brad had no idea what the master plan was, but he figured you could uncomfortably fit three in each tent. It'd been clear since they'd left the Burrow that they'd have gender separate tents, but the only girls were Hermione and Ginny. That left three spots for the boys, leaving at least five out in the cold.

"Nonsense. It might be a bit cozy," Mr. Weasley said, ducking his head into the tent and entering, "but we should be able to manage." Harry gave Brad a questioning look that told him their concerns were the same. Still, he decided to give the man the benefit of the doubt and poked his head into the tent.

Inside the tent he found all of the furnishings of a reasonably sized cottage. There were three separate wings, including bunk beds, a small kitchen and a bathroom complete with shower. Brad had to do a double take. He entered the tent the rest of the way. Magic never ceased to amaze him.

"Hot damn," Mike said, apparently having entered. The rest of them shuffled in, finding the tent downright roomy compared to how it looked outside. They doffed backpacks and coats, getting some of their things set up.

"We'll need some starter water," Mr. Weasley said, handing Ron a bucket. "The map shows a tap on the other side of the grounds, why don't you boys go get that." Ron made a look, as though to protest, but Harry managed to save him the trouble.

"I can take care of that," he said, reaching for the bucket. Ron cautiously handed it over, eyeing his father to see if there would be a reaction. The man simply shrugged and began dishing out assignments to everyone. Ginny and Hermione had the task of setting up the girls' tent, while Ron was tasked with unpacking some of the various supplies they'd brought along.

Brad adjusted the uncomfortable pistol harness underneath his jacket and followed Harry outside. The morning air was still crisp, but it was shaping up to be a beautiful day. There were few clouds in the sky and the sun felt comfortingly warm, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat it dished out in Africa just a few days prior. More people were awake now and there was a buzzing excitement.

"You sure jumped at the chance to get out here," Brad remarked after they'd made it past a few tents.

"I wanted to get a chance to see the camp," Harry replied, answering the unasked question. "I've never been to a Quidditch Cup before, or anything like it really."

Brad couldn't help but wonder what else _could_ be like it. The hodgepodge of insane looking tents was something you'd never catch in the real world. Adding the crazy attire and magical happenings really sent it over the top.

"Yeah, I get that." Brad and Harry were silent for a while, simply taking in the sights and, in Brad's case, keeping an eye on everyone around. On one side of the row, a tent that was stitched to look like a castle was erected, complete with a moat. Brad could hear the neighbor complaining that the alligator had eaten another one of his gnomes.

To the other side of the row, there were a series of stands, the proprietors each trying desperately to convince passers-by that they couldn't watch the game at all without the _this_ or _that_. Some were more successful than others.

"Why don't we go see what's for sale?" Harry asked. Brad knew Harry had a solid fortune to his name and could afford to get whatever he wanted. He took a cautious look around. His gut tightened a little at the thought of entering the fray but he had no idea why. He couldn't see anything even remotely threatening.

"Why not," Brad allowed Harry to take the lead. Harry stopped to look at a set of wild looking binoculars. The salesman insisted they were called omnioculars and you _had_ to have them to watch the game. While the man explained the great benefits of having a set, Brad looked over his shoulder again. He thought he saw someone on the other side of the crowd, back the way they'd come, but when he looked again there was nothing. Harry purchased three sets of the omnioculars and they moved along.

They stopped several more times, looking at various contraptions that Brad couldn't pronounce, let alone justify spending money on. Harry didn't bother buying any of it.

Brad looked back at the market again as they made it out and the man was standing there, staring at them. There was something in his eyes, a barely contained insanity, that made the hair on the back of Brad's neck stand up. As soon as they made eye contact, the man looked away, his tongue darting out in a way that unnerved Brad even further. He reflexively patted his ribs, feeling the handgun snug in its holster.

They'd made it a few steps out and Brad turned his head back toward Harry to warn him that they should pick up the pace. As he opened his mouth to talk he ran into someone, toppling down onto them. Brad reacted immediately, catching himself to stop from crushing them.

"Mon Dieu!" a melodic voice exclaimed underneath him and he found himself staring into a pair of dark blue eyes. He pulled himself back a little, getting a better look at her. Silver-blonde hair covered part of her face and her eyebrows were furrowed in frustration. Her lips were pouted. Brad leaned in slightly, then pushed himself off of her, catching himself before he kissed her. _What the fuck, Brad, focus!_

He stood up, holding a hand out to her. She eyed him cautiously but took it and he helped her up.

"I'm sorry," he said, patting some damp grass off of her shoulder and glancing back into the market. The man was gone. "I wasn't paying attention." He turned back to her, feeling his heart hammer even harder when he looked at her again. She was _gorgeous_.

"Tu devrais faire plus attention!" a small voice squeaked from beside him. Brad looked and saw a miniature version of the young woman standing before him. Brad couldn't help a nervous smile at the sound of her scold and he held his hands out in a gesture of appeasement.

"Sorry again," he said. The girls walked off arm in arm, chatting to themselves excitedly in a foreign language. She glanced at him over her shoulder once and when Brad saw it he fought off the urge to chase her.

"Wow," Harry said with a barely contained smile. Apparently Brad wasn't as smooth as he'd hoped.

"Not a word," Brad shook his head. "Let's get that water."

"Whatever you say, Romeo," Harry lead the way to the water spout. Brad kept an eye out for their tail but didn't see him again, or the beautiful girl.

Once back at the tent, they joined the party. Percy, Bill, Charlie and the twins had arrived and they were all busy passing time before the game. They had a couple of hours to kill before the game.

* * *

They had the luxury of not having to leave very early to get to their seats. The spot where they'd set up camp was right next to the wood-line and it was only a ten minute walk to get to the playing field. Mr. Weasley insisted that they not leave more than twenty minutes before the start of the game. It was hard for Brad to wrap his mind around leaving so late to such a big event, but he simply reminded himself that he wasn't there to enjoy the game.

In fact, he was going to have his work cut out for him. There were only enough tickets to allow for one operator to accompany the Weasley clan and their company, and even then only because Sirius wasn't attending. Brad elected to be the one present at the game since he was ultimately responsible for their safety.

Eric, Jason and Mike would be staying in the tent in full gear as an acting QRF. They had hardened communications equipment that cut through the magical interference. The position of their camp was perfect for a quick response if something went wrong during the game and Brad could contact them by radio if needed. He wouldn't be paying much attention to the game.

At twenty minutes to the game he departed with the Weasleys, walking behind everyone. Mr. Weasley had seen reason when the thick crowds of passing wizards and witches made it clear that the lines could be long.

It felt weird only having a sidearm to protect so many. He simply didn't have a way to hide his HK416, which was the weapon he brought with him to Africa. He hadn't packed for a Foreign Internal Defense mission and JSOC hadn't had much of a chance to set up a kit for them.

It turned out that the tickets Mr. Weasley presented gave them priority access, allowing them to completely pass the line. They headed straight up to the scaffold staircase to their box. On their way up there was a bit of a clog in the stairway. A Bulgarian man was waving his arms about, arguing with a couple of English-speaking witches over who had which seats.

While they were working to squeeze past, Harry put his hand on the rail. As soon as a Ministry official showed up to sort the mess, they were pushed out of the staircase, allowing people to pass through. They started back up the stairs, but Harry was turning toward the rail. Brad looked and saw Mr. Malfoy and his son standing a rung below them. Mr. Malfoy had the head of his cane on Harry's hand, holding him in place.

"Well if it isn't Mr. Potter," the senior Malfoy spat out in a condescending voice. His son wore an undeserved smirk as he watched the scene. Brad saw that the rest of the group was headed upstairs, unaware of the event unfolding. He'd never been a fan of Draco and judging by the way his father was looking at Harry, the apple didn't fall far from the tree. Mr. Malfoy opened his mouth to say something but Brad didn't feel like sticking around to hear what he had to say.

In one fell swoop, he closed the short distance between Harry and himself, grabbing the head of Malfoy's cane and yanking on it. He was surprised when the head came free almost instantly and he almost elbowed an elderly woman that was standing just behind him. Looking in his hand, he saw that the head of the cane was actually the eldest Malfoy's wand and the cane was simply a sheath.

"Give that back!" he commanded, his face red with indignation. Brad didn't hesitate, tossing the small wand. He didn't toss it directly back to Mr. Malfoy, however. He intentionally gave it too little power and watched with a smirk as it dropped between the girders.

"Oops," Brad said, watching the wand clang off one of the steel bars on its way down. "You probably should have grabbed that." He grabbed Harry by the elbow, not sticking around to talk more with the Malfoy's.

"I can't believe you did that!" Harry exclaimed as they started up the stairs, his voice a mixture of amazement and fear.

"I can't believe he had the balls to try and grab your hand with his wand," Brad replied evenly. He honestly thought he was pulling the man's cane away from him. The sound of that didn't seem very befitting of a soldier, but the guy was acting like a dick. The wand was simply a target of opportunity after the fact. They caught up with the rest of the Weasleys and had no further issue getting to their box.

That box was nothing short of a nightmare. It was right smack in the middle level of the stadium, not too high or too low. There was no one directly above them, instead the rest of the witches and wizards watching the game were slightly further back amid the catacomb of scaffolds and staircases. This gave the Weasleys and their company a commanding view of the game, most of which would be played at eye level.

The seats were plush and elevated from the front of the box to the back so that no one would have their views blocked by the person in front of them. There was a chef in the back of the box who was cooking meals to order and an impressive array of snacks and treats.

All of this was well and good for those who would be watching the Cup. For Brad, who was concerned only with security, it was nerve-wracking at best. The open box presented them freely to anyone above them, the perfect target for a sniper. There was a chef and his staff member _in the box_ with them that he'd never seen before. He'd have to keep an eye on them.

As if all of that wasn't enough, the only way to or from the box was the staircase. Normally he'd consider that a defenders advantage but he had very little cover and the only weapon was his handgun. He hadn't thought to factor in the long walk up into the stadium in the QRF response time and now he was sure that it'd take them at least twenty minutes to reach the box at best speed. It was going to be a long game.

Unfortunately, the Cup didn't do Brad's heart any favors. He'd been reassessing the staircase when a loud _boom_ reverberated through the stands and everyone began screaming. Brad had his handgun halfway out of the holster before he saw the flicker of green in the sky. Looking up, he saw a large dancing leprechaun made out of fireworks and a flight of men on broomsticks. It was the Irish team.

His second near heart attack came just a few moments later when the Bulgarian team entered the field. They burst through the chest of the dancing leprechaun and meanwhile their cheerleaders took to the field. A dancing corps of beautiful women that had men throughout the stadium cheering and acting wildly, as though they were under a trance. Brad at one point had to grab Ron's shoulder to force him back into his seat, fearful that the boy was going to try and leap from the box. It was a relief when they finally left the field.

There were many ups and downs as far as Brad could tell, but eventually the game ended. Brad was relieved that it didn't take a week, as some had suggested it could. Ron was glum at the Bulgarian loss, but took it in good stride. They had to slowly work their way down through the throngs of witches and wizards.

Brad radioed back to tell his team when they were a few minutes out and by the time they'd made it to the tents, he was exhausted. It took a lot out of you, maintaining a razors edge for several hours, solely focused on the safety of so many people at once in such a large crowd.

The four operators sat at the table and Brad debriefed with his team. Mr. Weasley and Percy sat together, quietly discussing the game while the rest of them loudly cheered and celebrated the game, their energy seemingly at its peak.

* * *

Several hours went by and the celebration didn't seem to wane out of the youths. Mr. Weasley, Percy, Bill and Charlie all headed out. The three eldest Weasley boys were leaving early to spend the night back at The Burrow with their mother. In Percy's case, it was because the reports were not going to write themselves and Mr. Crouch really needed him.

Brad sat with his team playing their fourth round of Go Fish. They'd tried to play the more adult game of Poker, only to realize that, still, none of them really knew the rules. They got halfway into a hand of made up rules before giving up and settling for an easier game.

"Jason, you got any four's?" Mike asked through squinted eyes. Jason smiled broadly and Mike smacked his cards against the table. "Gah, damn it!" he exclaimed as he pulled another card. He had, by far, the largest hand of cards.

"This is just not your game, Mikey," Brad sighed. They'd all removed their plate carriers and their rifles were propped up against the pile of body armor.

"You're telling me!" Mike set his deck of cards down, freeing his hands to pop his neck. _Wump._ There was the explosion of another firework outside, a little closer than the others had been.

"The Irish sure know how to party," Brad heard Fred say. Or George, he was never sure. _Whu-whump_ , a double explosion followed by loud cheers.

"Damn, they really do," Eric said. Mike was just picking up his cards when Mr. Weasley burst through the front of the tent, bringing with him the acrid smell of something burning.

"We have to go." It was a quiet whisper that caused everyone to stop. Ron, who'd been in the process of turning up a radio switched it off completely. The four operators reacted immediately, their experienced eyes and ears picking up on the distress in the mans demeanor.

"What's going on?" Brad asked, hefting his plate carrier over his head and strapping it in place. It was time for action. Beside him his team was doing the same.

"There's some kind of a riot, it's heading this way." Mr. Weasley started grabbing the boys and girls, gathering them together. Brad picked up his rifle, racking a round into the chamber and attaching the sling. He crossed the small distance to their rucksacks, pulling out his quarter-cut helmet and the panoramic night-vision goggles. His team picked up on the cue, doing the same.

"Stay here," Brad ordered, poking his head out of the tent. It was dark outside so he pulled the panoramic sights down over his eyes, illuminating the world around him. A gout of flame shot up several hundred feet away and behind the rows of tents. Its brief light allowed him to spot something in the sky. Perhaps wizards on broomsticks. No, they weren't moving fast enough. He stared for a moment and distinctly saw limbs. _Those were just people, floating there_. He ducked back into the tent.

"There are people floating in the air," Brad said to Mr Weasley, hoping for some insight.

"I think..." he paused a moment, searching for the right words. "I think I heard someone say that they'd gone after the muggles." Brad sighed. If that was the case, things got a little complicated. He couldn't just let that happen.

"Alright," Brad said, looking to his team. "Mike and Eric, you two escort them to them to the Portkey and get 'em the fuck out of here, copy?" They nodded their affirmation. Brad then turned to Mr. Weasley. "Jason and I are going to get those people down, we'll need your help."

"Right," Mr. Weasley agreed, gripping his wand tightly. To their credit, none of his team questioned him on the order. Brad knew he was probably looking at some hot water with the brass once this was all over. Technically, they weren't supposed to be there. Intervening like this had a high likelihood of getting them caught. He couldn't just let these people hang though, not when he could do something about it.

"Mike and I will exit first, I'll take the right. When we issue the all-clear, the rest of you come out." He turned to Mike and Eric, both of whom were fastening their helmets to their heads. "We'll cover your exit, Mike you take the rear. Get 'em to safety."

"Copy that," Eric said, shouldering his rifle at low-ready. Brad turned to the nervous looking adolescents.

"You guys stay between them alright, do whatever they say _the second_ they say it. Got it?" He looked each of them in the eye to get an affirmation. Satisfied, he turned to Jason and Mr. Weasley. "You guys ready?" As if to punctuate the question, another _whump_ sounded followed by screams. They nodded, and Brad burst out of the tent.


	34. Fighting a Riot

AN - So, sorry for the short chapters folks. I am trying to get _something_ out on a more regular basis. Part of the delay is waiting for my beta to get the chapter back to me with edits done, the other part is you run of the mill busy stuff. Here's the next chapter. Thanks for the comments and enjoy!

* * *

The thick smell of burning material bit at Brad's nose as he knelt, his knee collecting moisture from the damp grass. He heard the rustling of bodies behind him as the occupants of the Weasley tent filed out, but he kept to his lane. That was one of the things drilled into him in his training. No matter what was going on, you stay focused on your lane of fire. Trust your team to have their lanes covered and don't fuck them by getting distracted.

"Departing." Eric's voice was low, almost inaudible but for the radio. He wasn't sure that any one of the youths being escorted heard him but they followed. Once the rustling of their departure had receded Brad crouched up and began slowly working his way forward. Another _whump._ This time he could see the brightness increase during the explosion. More screams of terror.

It was painful, moving so slowly. He wanted to rush in, to knock skulls and stop this mayhem. That was emotion talking though, not tactical reasoning or logic. Reason was your ally on the battlefield. It was the one who could think clearly when shit got real, that's who would come out ahead.

 _Slow is smooth, smooth is fast._ He repeated the mantra to himself, steeling his hammering heart. If they ran in headlong and got themselves injured or killed, they'd be useless. Better to take it slow and do it right.

Brad stopped and crouched, raising his rifle at the gap between tents to his left, where he heard the noisy steps of approaching people. They rounded the corner and his finger twitched but remained outside of the trigger-well. Two adults, two children, running hand in hand. They stopped in their tracks when they spotted the alien in front of them, so foreign looking in his panoramic goggles and body armor. He dropped the rifle low and beckoned them past him.

"It's safe this way, _go!_ " He called it just above a whisper, but it caught the night between explosions and screams and sounded deafening in his ears. The family hesitated only a moment more and then darted past him, as though afraid he would leap out to grab them. Instead, he turned his head toward Mr. Weasley. "You know who's friendly better than I do, take the lead."

Mr. Weasley dutifully took the lead and they moved through a row of tents. Brad chanced a look into the sky and saw the figures floating and bumping in the air, spinning sickeningly. _Was one of them a child?_ He banished the thought from his mind immediately, but his heart knew it was and he knew that late at night that sight would come back to him.

Focused on the current tactical situation, he noted that the figures were very close. He was also starting to make out the sound of chanting and laughter from a tent one row over. It was time. He tapped Mr. Weasley on the shoulder and whispered, "When the shooting starts can you get them down?"

"Yes, but I'll only be able to concentrate on that," he replied. Brad knew what he meant by it. _You'll be on your own against them._

"Good, that's all I need. Get ready," Brad and Jason crept to the edge of the tent to get a look around at the riotous group. Brad produced a mirror from a pouch on his vest and edged it around the corner. The throng of individuals were standing still, most of them pointing their wands to the sky and jeering at the figures above them. Every now and then, one cast a fireball at one of the tents surrounding them. All of them wore dark robes and metallic masks that hid their faces.

"We break on three," Brad said, collapsing the mirrors telescoping handle and stowing it back in his vest, then readying his rifle. "Three, two, one."

He turned the corner ducking low, giving Jason a clear line of sight as he rounded the corner behind. Brad raised his rifle and everything seemed in slow motion. The masked figure closest to him looked him dead in the eye, stunned. In his hand was a wand shaped like the head of a cane, the tip pointed up. Brad couldn't help the glance upward and, directly above the masked figure, he saw the spinning, sickeningly small body.

A white-hot rage burned in him at the sight. He didn't hesitate, pulling the trigger several times. Red streaks shot from the tip of his rifle, striking the masked figure in the chest and head, each shot was at once its own _Stupefy_ spell and a hard hit from a rubber bullet. As the figure dropped, he heard the tell-tale _rat-tat-tat-tat-tat_ beside him, Jason's SAW ripping a fountain of red into the masked crowd. They broke apart immediately, running in different directions.

Brad shot another in the back as he ran, and then another. A third made it past a burning tent frame before Brad could get a bead. He didn't think about it, just ran after the man. He would _not_ let that motherfucker get away with this. Brad rounded the corner and heard Jason's voice in his ear. He didn't listen, didn't reply. Instead, he raised his rifle at the retreating figure, but the man ducked past another row of tents, blocking the shot.

Around that corner, Brad caught the sight of robes trailing past another corner. He sprinted past but this time saw nothing to indicate where his quarry had fled. He didn't slow down, darting forward and looking both directions as he passed between rows. After two rows he stopped, crouching and closing his eyes to listen.

"Non, S'il vous plaît!" He heard a panicked, melodic voice from nearby, but it was back toward the riot they'd ambushed. "Please, no!" The voice raised an octave in fear and Brad stood, darting toward the sound. He peered through the half open flap of a tent to see a large, black robed man standing over two young, silvery-blonde girls.

The older one was clutching the younger to her chest as they huddled together and she was shaking her head through the tears. Brad almost shot the man, but someone else inside the tent spoke up. Someone he couldn't see.

"Would'ja just shut 'em up already?" he said in an irritated voice.

"We oughtta take em, don'tcha think?" the bigger man asked, turning his head to the left. Perfect, now Brad knew which way to go.

"We're here for their money, we don' need the bloody French ministry after us, you nit," the other man said.

"But, they're _Veela,_ I can tell. They'll fetch a great price, I know it." He took another step toward the terrified girls. Brad was sure he knew where the one was now and he'd heard quite enough.

"Yeah? Wha'da _you_ know about sellin'-" he didn't have a chance to finish the sentence as Brad burst through the tent flap. The figure was standing just about where Brad thought he'd be and the operator sent several rounds flying until he slumped to the floor. He turned his rifle on the other man who was just pulling out his wand.

"FREEZE, MOTHERFUCKER!" Brad spat out in a commanding voice. The man, who'd just taken hold of his wand, panicked at the commanding surety of Brad's voice and dropped the wand. "Arms up, NOW!"

"Hey, don' worry, friend-" he started to turn but Brad stopped him cold.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" The man complied, ducking his head low as if to soften a physical blow. "When I tell you," Brad said, no longer yelling but equally commanding, "back up to the sound of my voice."

"Sure thi-" he started, but Brad again cut him off, letting him again know who was in charge here.

"Back up, back up, back up, back up, STOP!" Brad yelled it, stunning the man into cooperation. A great deal of detainment exercises involved knocking your target off balance and keeping them off balance. The loud commands and direct orders were often enough to keep them reacting in an emotional state, not a logical one. That gave Brad an advantage.

"ON THE GROUND!" Brad shouted, and the target complied immediately. "Arms straight out, NOW!" He did so and Brad let his rifle hang, grabbing flex-cuffs from his vest. He'd thought it idiotic to be bringing flex-cuffs on an FID mission like this, but here he was.

"Look, ya don'-" he tried to turn his head to look back but Brad was already there to respond. Brad dropped his body weight into a knee that was planted in the middle of the man's back, pushing the air from his lungs. Brad wrenched the detainee's right arm behind his back, putting the cuff around his wrist and zipping it tight. Then the other hand, then the feet. In short order the would-be human trafficker was hogtied and Brad stood up.

For the first time, he looked at the two terrified girls. They were still huddled together on the far end of the tent. They looked just as fearful, only now that fear was directed at _him._ He realized with a start that he must look like a monster in his goggles and armor with the loud weapon. He pulled the goggles up, allowing his eyes a moment to adjust to the lighting in the tent, then fixed his gaze on the older girl's eyes.

He found himself wanting to rush to her side and kiss her. It didn't just sound like a good idea, it sounded like the _only_ idea. For a moment he stepped forward with the intention of planting his lips on her's, then the absurdity of that plan caught in his brain and he reset. _What the fuck, Brad?_

Instead, he caught that one step and stooped low, to her eye level, remaining a respectful distance away. He let his rifle hang at his chest, showing open palms, the universal sign of "look, I've got nothing, I'm not going to hurt you."

"You're safe now," he said, staring into her deep blue eyes. With a start, he recognized her as the girl from the market. She nodded once and sat up, swiping each of her eyes with the back of her hand. Brad turned and gave the girls a moment to collect themselves.

"Boss?" A questioning voice called from outside that he recognized immediately as Jason's.

"In here," Brad called out. He expected to see Jason walk through. Instead, a pair of burly looking wizards in dark gray robes entered, followed by Jason.

"We got a problem," Jason said, in what felt like a tremendous understatement. The wizards, who were wearing official Department of Magical Law Enforcement insignia, looked at the two bodies and the crying girls.

"We'll handle this," one informed him in a baritone voice.

Brad followed Jason outside and was met by a bright flash. Brad thought it was the flash of a weapon discharging, but there were others. And so much talking. That was when it hit him. _Oh shit,_ he thought. _That's the press._


	35. A Fortunate Mistake

**DAILY PROPHET, SPECIAL REPORT**

 **CHAOS AT THE QUIDDITCH CUP**

 _by Rita Skeeter_

 _The 442_ _nd_ _Quidditch cup was the scene of many things. It was a scene of joy and heartbreak, of tragedy and triumph, and finally one of chaos. After the legendary game, of which Ireland won even though Bulgaria caught the Snitch, a mob of riotous rabble-rousers descended on the celebrating masses, striking terror into the hearts of many._

 _The muggle administrator of Camp Ground C, which was the closest to the Cornelius Fudge Quidditch Stadium, was suspended in the air above the riot along with his entire family. This included the 3-year-old Timothy Roberts, a terrible sight indeed._

 _However, not all was lost. Unbeknownst to the spectators, the Ministry of Magic had planted a team of muggle special soldiers among the party goers, members of the infamous Task Force Ansible. These muggle soldiers spr_ _a_ _ng into_ _action to stop this crime that the Ministry failed to prevent_ _, subduing seven o_ _f the_ _rioters in quick order. Of the seven arrested by_ _Department of Magical Law Enforcement_ _Officers, five were suspected of being Death Eaters during the dark times of You-Know-Who._

 _Though it is unclear why the D_ _MLE_ _was ill-prepared to handle such a demonstration,_ _at least_ _one thing is certain:_ _w_ _ithout the presence of these muggle soldier to supplement the Ministry response,_ _the_ _tragedy would have been much greater._

 _THE ARRESTED_

 _Amycus Carrow_

 _Liam Goyle_

 _Stephan Crabbe_

 _Gerry Slwyn_

 _Montgomery Rosiere_

 _Natt O'Hare_

 _Leslie O'Hare_

 _The DMLE is taking steps to prosecute all involved to the fullest extent allowed by the law. For more information on the controversial Task Force Ansible, see my previous article:_

 **TASK FORCE ANSIBLE, MACUSA MADNESS OR MAGICAL MARVEL?**

* * *

Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge looked at himself in the mirror for the last time, tugging at the edges of his robes until they looked _just_ right. It had been difficult at first to contain his fury at the arrogance of MACUSA. Deploying those abominable troops without authority! it was astonishing. He knew that after this meeting, however, the Americans would finally be put in their place.

He couldn't fathom what President Harris had been thinking in the first place, bringing _muggles_ into the fold. The citizens of magical America had been reduced to living in something akin to a third world country since the whole Salem situation. In fact, during his whole term as Minister, Fudge hadn't really though much about MACUSA at all.

The formation of Task Force Ansible had sent ripples through the international magical community. It was a monstrous betrayal of trust from a fellow magical government, to bring so many muggles into the fold, and the Americans had been paying for it ever since.

There was already precious little trade occurring between America and the much more powerful European powers, being that there was little of value within the United States and much of _that_ was dominated by the gangs of dark creatures.

That lifeline of trade ended abruptly as MACUSA was barred from the International Confederation of Wizards. It was more of a symbolic gesture as MACUSA didn't have a lot of authority in the ICW to begin with. American witches and wizards were also completely barred from international travel. No sports events, no vacations, no schooling. That was the one that hurt.

Yet, not only did President Harris continue the relationship with the muggle military, he _expanded_ it. Fudge's operatives observing the US had reported that the top American Aurors were assigned to teams of muggle special operations soldiers and that they were very rapidly stamping out the remaining gangs with brutal efficiency.

Fudge's only real stake in that particular fight was the fact that these teams had proven effective enough at their jobs that there had been an influx of dark creatures among the European powers as they fled the crackdown. American vampires had been migrating to Romania over the last several months and Fudge was hearing reports that werewolf and giant populations in England had nearly doubled. Troubling indeed.

None of that, however, approached the apoplectic fury he felt toward President Harris and his damnable secret police over sending a team to the Quidditch Cup! It was unbelievable and he was still trying to wrap his mind around it. How could that smug, sorry excuse for a leader send soldiers undercover to England, _to an international event of all things_?!

It was the subject of the emergency meeting he'd called, one that would start in the next few minutes. He'd sent out notice to the participating governments of the ICW right away as required by the international charter. He didn't even include a subject. In his experience it was easier to get an audience with a mystery and he was certain that the international community would be shocked when they heard.

* * *

General Raymond Thomas walked in unison with Colonel Sumner down the polished floors of the British Ministry of Magic. It was an unusual sight that turned many heads as they made their way to the upper floor meeting area.

Word of the riot had been passed rapidly, first of course through the expeditious wizarding channels. General Thomas received a phone call just after news broke out about the riot at the Quidditch Cup. Within the hour he was holding a photograph of The Daily Prophet, staring at the two stoic special operators in front of an outlandish tent, smoke billowing in the background.

It was natural to assume that the British Ministry would be upset but he wasn't quite prepared for how quickly an emergency meeting had been called. It was almost midnight, the very night of the riot, when he received the summons directing Colonel Sumner and himself to the British Ministry Headquarters for an emergency meeting, of which they were the subject. It probably wasn't going to be pretty.

If the rumors were accurate there would be several international representatives present. He'd heard France for sure, as head of the ICW, would be attending. Most of the major players would be there as well; Bulgaria, Germany, Italy, Brazil...it was definitely looking gloomy for the fate of their experimental task force.

"Here we go," Colonel Sumner muttered, interrupting the General's introspection as he opened the doors in front of them. Inside sat the heads of almost every state in the European magical community, along with several from outside Europe.

"General, Colonel," Minister Fudge greeted them tightly from his podium, indicating a pair of empty seats in the front row. "Please, have a seat." General Thomas sat in a chair and noticed Headmaster Dumbledore was also present, though across the room from them.

Fudge watched them take their seats and then turned his attention to the general assembly, a look of satisfaction on his face. After a moment's pause, he had just opened his mouth to speak when the quiet of the room was disturbed by the scraping of a chair, somewhere behind the General.

"Pardon me for eenterrupting," a female voice with a thick French accent echoed though the hall. "I wanted to say somezing, if zat is okay." General Thomas looked back at her. She was a tall brunette, about his age, in a nice business suit. Undoubtedly the French Minister of Magic.

"Er, of course," Fudge said, deferring to her. Thomas could only assume that it was because France currently held the leadership position in the International Confederation of Wizards. If she noticed that Fudge didn't appreciate the interruption, she ignored it.

It was a few moments before she made it to the front podium, her heels clicking loudly on the polished marble floors. She greeted Minister Fudge warmly behind podium, whispering something inaudible that caused both of them to laugh lightly. Fudge flanked her as she took the podium, looking out at everyone.

"'Ello," she greeted them with a smile. "For z'ose of you o'o are not familiar, I am Nathalie Dufoix, ze French Minister. I wanted to take a momen' to commend ze British Ministry, along wiz ze Americans, for z'eir foresight and 'aving such 'ighly trained men in place for ze Quidditch Cup."

 _Holy shit,_ General Thomas thought as she spoke, watching Fudge's face grow increasingly red as he tried to contain himself. The General knew for a fact that they'd had no permission to be in place from the British. In fact, that was the cause of this whole meeting. President Harris had mentioned to him that Fudge didn't include that information in the request to attend in the generic summons. It seemed that the French Minister and head of the ICW was under the mistaken impression that Minister Fudge had planted the team intentionally.

"I, along wiz ozers, 'ad my doubts about ze British security at ze field." Fudge's pursed his lips as she spoke about his lax security. "Trouble wiz z'ese purists 'as long been a concern. I am also 'appy to see I was wrong about zis Ansible program and I commend Minister Fudge for zis clear demonstration of z'eir capability. We should all be zo lucky as to 'ave such men as General Thomas looking out for us." She gave him a nod of appreciation as she stepped down from the podium.

General Thomas stole a glance, first at Colonel Sumner, then President Harris. Both wore similar looks of confusion. Minister Dufoix had been the one who signed the order disallowing the American witches and wizards from travel, direct punishment for the formation of the Ansible program. To hear such a polar shift was incredible and it hilariously undermined Minister Fudge.

The whole purpose of this meeting, General Thomas was certain, was to shame MACUSA and the TFA program. After that speech, any attempt to do so now would be a direct contradiction to Minister Dufoix, a political suicide at this point, as she was very popular and many would follow her view simply for that fact.

"Well, thank you, Minister Dufoix, for your kind words," Fudge said tightly, struggling to gain control of his facilities. He took a deep breath and let it out, audible in the microphone. "Well," he laughed uncomfortably, unsure of what to say next. He paused a moment and pointed into the crowd with a look of relief. General Thomas looked over and saw Minister Koch of Germany standing.

"Yes, I had a question for you, Minister Fudge." The German had a flawless English accent and General Thomas wondered if he'd spent time in England or just had a great tutor.

"Of course," Fudge replied.

"After such vehemence against the creation of this American task force, what caused you to change your tune and support them?" It was a valid question and one that General Thomas was curious to hear the answer to. It was strange to him, listening to the diplomats be so...diplomatic. For everyone to remain so civil and impartial was counter to his experience with _regular_ diplomats.

"I, er...right, so," Fudge bumbled a little bit, glancing at Dumbledore. The Headmaster nodded his head subtly and a flash of anger crossed the Minister's eyes before he regained control of his voice. "Well, I'd been contacted by the Headmaster of our esteemed school, suggesting that we supplement our security with the muggle soldiers. He had many good things to say after the ordeal with Mr. Black, of course."

 _Wow,_ General Thomas thought, _that must have been a tough pill to swallow._ Fudge had taken it as a personal insult that Dumbledore would not allow the Ministry to place dementors at his school the previous year to catch Sirius Black. Adding to that their apprehension of the notorious criminal and his subsuquent exoneration...it had been an embarrassing ordeal for the Ministry. For Fudge to praise it so convincingly was unnerving and much more in line with the typical politicians that General Thomas encountered on a regular basis.

The rest of the meeting was strange for the Americans present. It more or less evolved into a question and answer session about details of the Task Force Ansible program. The fruits of their labor in regard to hybridizing technology with magic, their success in driving off the large gangs that had once dominated the United States, the steps that they were taking to uphold that statute of secrecy, and other such things. Nothing overt or top secret and it was much better than the previous stone silence that MACUSA had been receiving.

General Thomas, having answered some of the questions directly, did his best to answer them without going into much detail. It was always worrisome to give operational details to politicians. Many good men died because the higher ups couldn't keep their mouth shut. Finally, however, the meeting was adjourned. The two military officers met President Harris outside the main hall.

"Well, that was something," President Harris remarked.

"That it was," General Thomas replied, "I still can't believe Fudge went along with it."

"He really didn't have a choice," Harris said with a half-smile. "He couldn't go bashing the head of the ICW. We're lucky she misinterpreted the details."

"I guess everyone assumed we had permission to be here," Sumner said. They were silent a moment before an aide walked up to the group.

"Minister Fudge wishes to meet with you in his private chambers," the aide said, gesturing the way. The officers exchanged looks of worry before starting on their way. It was a silent, awkward walk as the three Americans headed for what was sure to be an uncomfortable meeting.

When they entered the private chambers of Minister Fudge, however, they were not having a private meeting like they'd assumed. Fudge was seated at a small round table, flanked by Minister Dufoix and an Eastern European looking man with an unpleasant expression.

"Welcome," Minister Fudge smiled warmly as they entered. It made the General uneasy. "Please, have a seat." The three men did so. "Minister Dufoix had some…questions." He turned to her, allowing her to proceed.

"Zank you for meeting us," she said. Her smile was much more genuine. "I wonder, 'ow ready do you stand to deploy more of your men?"

General Thomas squinted suspiciously at her. It was a direct question about readiness, not something military officials often discussed with the heads of another state. He pursed his lips, trying to come up with a diplomatic answer when she broadened her smile and continued.

"You 'ave a suspicious mind, for zis I cannot blame you," she said, pouting her lips slightly in thought as she paused. "You see, we are 'aving another international event zis year, 'eld at 'ogwarts no less."

"I see," General Thomas responded, though he really didn't. Was she asking him to commit troops to this event?

"We will be sending many of our students to 'ogwarts for ze year, along with students from Durmsdrang." She indicated with a gesture that the students from Durmsdrang would be charges of the brooding man that had yet to open his mouth. "Eet is only natural zat I worry about z'eir safety."

"Ma'am," General Thomas started, "are you asking me to deploy troops to the school?"

"Oui," she smiled again. "Eet is very clear your men know what zey are doing, first wiz Black and zen again at ze Cup. I am willing to admit when I 'ave poor judgement."

"Are you offering to allow us back into the International Confederation?" President Harris interjected. It could be a big win for MACUSA, which had been completely cut off in trade and travel since the inception of TFA. With reelection coming up soon, this could really help his chances.

"Oui, and we would like to begin our own, similar program eventually. Your assistance would be most 'elpful."

"I think we can arrange that," President Harris smiled as well.

The next two hours were spent going over the details of the Triwizard Cup and the security needs presented by it. Originally President Harris and the Minister began negotiating for only half of one company. The problem with that was that they were asking for full security, a tall order for such a small number.

General Thomas finally had to interrupt and point out that such a force was too small. When asked for his honest opinion, he gave it. Given the lessening tempo in domestic operations he had more units he could commit. Sending 3rd and 4th platoons of Alpha Company along with 1st and 2nd Platoons of Bravo Company would bring them to nearly a hundred infantrymen. Add a headquarters element, a logistics platoon, a team of Spartans and 1st and 3rd Air Wings to compliment them and you had a force to be reckoned with. Most of that force could provide support to the school from a Forward Operating Base in a field just north of Hogsmeade.

It was an easy plan to come up with as he'd already done the legwork last year. It always paid to have contingency plans in place and, if they'd needed a significant force, this had been the plan.

The politicians, of course, had to tweak things. There was a different field a little nearer to the school that they liked better even though the terrain was less suitable for defensive operations. Instead of the AH-64 Apache gunships of 1st Air Wing, they wanted 3rd Wing and their special operations variants of the Blackhawk to provide any close air support needs. The 4th Air Wing could provide any necessary transport with CH-43's. They also completely removed the Bradley Infantry Fighting Vehicles from the deployment, preferring instead to use Humvees due to the intimidation factor of IFVs.

After a long and trying process, a proposal was drafted and signed. Task Force Ansible would again be deploying to Hogwarts. With the set-up of an FOB, the deployment was officially slated as indefinite. Fudge looked as though he had to struggle to keep his mouth shut, but he managed to simply nod along with the suggestions by Minister Dufoix.

The soldiers left the meeting with much to do. Colonel Sumner had less than four weeks to get the troops and material overseas and then set up Forward Operating Base Phoenix, a process he would oversee personally. It was a bittersweet order as it came with a caveat; Colonel Sumner would temporarily relinquish command of Task Force Ansible in order to personally command the Triwizard Security Force.


	36. Starting the School Year

AN - I've been able to put a pretty solid chunk of time toward this project lately and I'm really glad to see you guys enjoying the latest chapters. I'm really excited for the things that are happening next. Enjoy everyone and thanks to those of you taking the time to review!

* * *

Colonel Marshall Sumner stood silently in the woods, just at the edge of the clearing where Forward Observation Base Phoenix would be set up, and watched the CH-46s as they dropped off payload after payload of material and ordinance and the personnel to set up and man the facility. The thrumming beat of rotor blades kicked up debris that kept the Colonel squinting, even at a distance.

President Harris had worried about the ordinance portion of Sumner's requisition. He asked why Sumner thought he would need a section of M777 howitzers, a wide variety of explosives, hundreds of thousands of rounds of ammunition, both enchanted and not, and so on. Even General Thomas had raised an eyebrow at the order form.

Thankfully, the language of the agreement was ambiguous in these areas. He was explicitly prohibited from bringing AH-64s, Bradley IFVs, and a few other choice platforms that would have done his heart well. There was nothing at all to prevent him from deploying artillery or massive amounts of firepower, however.

Sumner felt that his reasoning was logical and stood firmly by the decision. TFA managed to inflict some serious hurt on the gangs across the United States and had simultaneously helped organize MACUSA into a more effective governing body that was able to cope with the expansion in their authority.

Where previously they'd maintained only the most tenuous grasp on authority, they were now unchallenged. That grasp came with a policing responsibility that their law enforcement wing was unaccustomed to. Training reinforcements for the police department had thankfully proven less challenging than driving those gangs out had been.

MACUSA now directly controlled an estimated 87% of magical territory within the United States, leagues above their previous 35% high. The operations that were targeting vampires, werewolves, and other dark creature gangs had proven successful, if not a little underwhelming recently.

Intelligence had estimated the number of dark creature gang members, of all types and flavors, to range between 250,000 and 300,000 individuals. Through bitter fighting in the beginning and more resounding successes later on, they'd confirmed kills on about 45,000 individuals and they'd arrested almost 100,000.

The populations of gang members, and territories controlled by them, had diminished greatly and it begged the question: Where in the hell were the remaining hundred thousand _minimum,_ hiding? They certainly didn't seem to be in the United States.

For a long time, the best they could do was guess that the dark creatures were fleeing the country, though without international intelligence cooperation between magical governments it was anyone's guess. Until recently, that was.

France had expressed a great deal of interest in beginning their own Ansible program and had resumed ties with MACUSA. They'd even proposed and passed a lift on the ban of MACUSA from the ICW and lifted the travel ban. Their intelligence confirmed that these dark creatures were leaving the United States in droves for the safer European countries.

That was only one of the reasons Sumner wanted to retain so much ordinance. Part two was that they were still unsure of the whereabouts of _two_ of the most wanted individuals in magical society. The first was the comparably easy one, Henry Eden. Reaper team had tracked the man to Africa and lost the trail. Sumner was worried about the possibility of him trying to regain ties to westernized magical communities. A terrorist to the core, Sumner couldn't think of a better place to commit an atrocity than the international wizarding games between youths that would be held at Hogwarts this year.

The second one was trickier. Though officially deceased, Dumbledore believed that public enemy number one, Voldemort, was not only alive but active. Dumbledore had proven himself an intelligent man and though he had no direct evidence, there was a great deal of circumstantial evidence that aligned nicely with that theory. If he was in fact alive, there was clear evidence supporting a pathological hatred of Harry Potter, who of course would be attending Hogwarts.

All of this culminated in Sumner's desire to have ordinance. Lots of ordinance. He'd even submitted for, and obtained, a pair of C-RAM guns to place at FOB Phoenix. Technically designed to destroy incoming rockets and artillery, the RADAR was sensitive enough to detect and target fliers on broomsticks. It'd chew those soft targets to shreds.

Was a frontal assault of FOB Phoenix likely? No. Neither was a frontal assault on Hogwarts. But Sumner was bound and determined to deter any thought of aggression during these games. Damned if anything was going to be allowed to happen on his watch.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen," Colonel Sumner announced to the quiet room. They were in the operations planning room of the Command and Control Center of FOB Phoenix. The base was rapidly constructed from prefab structures, allowing a full base of operations to be placed in a short time. This was the third such attempt by the US military at rapid base construction using the prefabricated buildings and Sumner was impressed.

The parts were easily stored and transported and, though heavy, the walls and structures largely fit together well. The barracks building had a defect that left a corner of the roof with a quarter inch gap. Easy to fix.

Now it was time for the operations briefing. Sumner had overall command of the Triwizard Security Force this year, having turned over command of TFA to Lt. Colonel Ferris for the time being. Sumner would oversee the large strokes of operations from FOB Phoenix. It was time to brief the team leaders and commanders on their individual assignments.

"I hope you've had your coffee, this'll be a long one." There were scattered chuckles from the men, all seated for the briefing. "This year the British, French and Bulgarians are having an international tournament. Hogwarts will be hosting the event and an approximate two hundred extra students will be present, about a hundred from each of the foreign groups. Beauxbatons Academy is the French school, Durmstrang from Bulgaria. The students don't know about this, so mouths shut. Don't go spoiling the surprise."

"As you're all aware, we managed to gather some international attention a couple weeks ago courtesy of Reaper team," Sumner gave a nod of acknowledgment to Capt. Gordon, who was standing in the back of the group. There were a few jeers from fellow operators before the room quieted down for Sumner to continue. They'd done good work but anytime an operator caught media attention like that they were sure to get ribbed for it. "That attention was especially important to the French, who were feeling that the current security arrangement provided by the Ministry was inadequate, for a number of reasons."

"First, and primarily, the Death Eaters. A group of blood purists, the Death Eaters were led by..." Sumner paused, wishing he had another name to call this idiot by, "Lord Voldemort. While this Voldemort character is presumed dead by the British Ministry, there is circumstantial evidence that states that he may still be active. Regardless of his corporeal status, it is believed that the Death Eaters, while weakened, are not inactive. A significant number of those arrested at the riot during the Cup were suspected of being Death Eaters. Unfortunately, the Ministry is officially chalking it up to a last hurrah by the old guard. They're to be thrown in Azkaban and there will be no further investigation into the matter, or into the possibility that Death Eaters are active. For our purposes, we will assume that they are active and dangerous."

"Secondary to that would be the fact that we have been so successful in stomping the hell out of those gangs back home," Sumner said with a half-smile. He paused to let them cheer. They were rightly proud of that progress they'd made. "Intel has confirmed that the missing hundred thousand or so dark creatures that we didn't fight at home have migrated across Europe, a large number heading here to Britain. There is concern that with the increased numbers, they may be bold and try to strike at the school."

"Third, and unbeknownst to the European governments, is Henry Eden. Reaper tracked Eden to Africa where the trail went cold. This asshole is a terrorist to the core. He's directly responsible for three separate attacks in the US and suspected of several others with quite a body count. The intel boys think that Eden may try to make his way back to a Western nation in order to continue inflicting damage, and the tournament is a prime target for him."

"With that in mind we've created FOB Phoenix as a semi-permanent presence in the UK. From here we will direct security operations at both Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. You can look to your individual assignments for the rotation schedule, but we will keep one platoon at Hogwarts on duty, one at Hogsmeade, one at the FOB as the ready reserve, and one on R&R. That will change to two platoons on duty at the school during major events."

"I am going to direct overall operations from here at FOB Phoenix. Major Price is going to be my second in command for the duration of this assignment and will be implementing my directives. Major?" Colonel Sumner deferred to the Major. He'd been successful in running the operation last year and was a capable officer. They'd already discussed the assignments and he preferred to let his officers do their jobs. No one liked an officer that stepped on toes.

"Thank you, Colonel. Alright, so the Hogwarts students are going to be arriving in Hogsmeade at 1900 hours today. We are officially in control of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts security as of 1700 hours today. The idea was to give us two hours to have our shit together before the students arrive. Things will be in full order by no later than 1730 hours." He paused, looking at the platoon leaders in turn. "Captain Jeffords, I want your platoon to secure the school. Lieutenant Clarke, you'll secure Hogsmeade. The students will be taking their carriages and boats again this year so Lieutenant Vance will split his platoon between road and waterway patrols. Lieutenant Miles, you're on the Quick Reaction Force. The Blackhawks will be spun up and ready to roll, and you guys need to be too. Everyone got their assignments?"

There was a chorus of affirmatives and the Major nodded. "Excellent. There's one more thing to address. Headmaster Dumbledore still believes that Mr. Potter may be in some form of danger. For that reason, Reaper team has again been assigned to their protection."

"Yes, sir," Gordon said audibly. He'd already been informed of that fact by Colonel Sumner, when he'd first arrived at FOB Phoenix. Dumbledore, though he didn't have direct evidence to link it, had pointed to the disappearance of Ministry official Bertha Jorkins, a murder at the former home of Lord Voldemort, and a few other things as connected to the return of Voldemort. If that was the case, Harry would undoubtedly be in danger and Reaper would be the last line of defense.

* * *

Through the sound of deep, rolling thunder, and pounding rain, Brad didn't hear the approaching train. It wasn't until his earbud crackled to life with the report of the incoming train, issued by one of the Hogsmeade patrols, that he focused. It was easy to get lost in the steady thrum of rainfall. The four operators sat for a moment longer inside the running Humvee, appreciating the protection from the torrential downpour. Brad felt a small pang of sympathy for the guys stuck patrolling the lake.

A flash of lightning illuminated the tracks and they could see the Hogwarts Express, just a minute or so from its stop. Brad chewed on his lip. It was good to be back. He hadn't wanted to admit it to himself, but he'd felt almost at home with Harry, Ron and Hermione and it was a comfort to know that he'd be around them again this year.

It wasn't altogether bad news, either. They'd been briefed on the history of the Triwizard Tournament and the broad-strokes plan for bringing the tournament back to life. There were no specifics laid out on challenges, but it had been determined that no one under the age of seventeen would be allowed to compete. That left all three of his charges safe and out of the running, and it made his job _considerably_ easier.

"Let's hop to it, boys," Brad said over the roll of thunder that erupted right as he spoke. He sighed and opened the door, stepping out into the rain. Even though it was only a handful of steps to the platform, they were soaked by the time they made it there. Brad loved his multi-cam uniform, but damn it all if it didn't seem to just let the water right through.

The train squealed to a stop in front of them and in a few moments the students were stepping out. Brad could hear Hagrid's booming voice, directing all of the first years his way. There were looks of wonder and terror from the first years, first on seeing the soldiers and then on realizing that they were going with the half-giant and into the boats.

"Hey!" Hermione's voice sounded near him. Brad looked over just in time to see Mike enveloped in a hug that threatened to knock him over. Walking up behind her, a sulky Ron and Harry sporting a half smile.

"Good to see you guys," Brad greeted them, shaking Harry's hand with a smile. Ron simply nodded. "Something wrong?"

"Malfoy made fun of Ron's dress robes," Hermione said through a smile, after disengaging from Mike.

"Dress _robes,_ " Mike said, now grinning from ear to ear with the novelty of the idea. "Man, what will they think up next."

"I already _know_ they're awful," Ron exclaimed. "I can't believe mum sent them with me."

"I'm sure you'll be fine," Brad said helpfully, patting Ron on the shoulder. They headed to the carriages, catching one that was nearby.

The ride to the castle was pleasant enough. They caught up, learning that Mr. Weasley was in fact very busy with things at the Ministry since the riot, among other issues. When Ron brought up the subject of the secret event being held at the school and the operators declined to comment, he threw his hands up in disgust.

"Unbelievable!" he cried out. " _Malfoy_ knows for cryin' out loud! Bill knows, dad knows, _Percy_ knows, you guys know! Would it kill you to give out a hint or something!?"

"Whoa, whoa," Mike said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "I can say this much." The carriage went dead silent and Brad gave Mike a warning look. He had no personal interest in keeping this secret, but he'd been ordered by Colonel Sumner not to tell anyone. "It's gonna happen during the school year," Mike said, nodding his head profoundly.

"You're impossible!" Ron exclaimed and Mike started laughing.

"I can't tell you any more than that, brother," he said between fits of laughter.

When they arrived at the school, they filed inside and headed to the Great Hall for the feast. All of them were famished and, much to his relief, the small table near Gryffindor where the operators used to eat remained in place. The seven of them took spots at the table and made small talk while everyone else filed in. Ron played with his silverware, commenting on his near starvation.

When the first years arrived, their trek taking a little longer than the carriages, the sorting ceremony began. Brad and the team clapped for each announcement, though he was perhaps a little more vigorous for Gryffindor appointments and a little less so for Slytherin. The Slytherin types just generally rubbed him the wrong way.

Finally, after the ceremony, Dumbledore stood and waved his hands in a gesture that ceased the idle chatter among classmates. Ron groaned gently at the thought of more talking prior to food.

"I have only two words for you, presently," Dumbledore smiled, looking from side to side in a way that seemed like he was making eye contact with each of the students personally. " _Tuck in!"_ Ron could have sworn that Dumbledore was looking straight at him when he spoke, but he was too busy snatching a large slice of ham that had materialized on the platter in front of him.

"Oh, man, so much better." Ron almost moaned in delight as he chewed his food. Nearly Headless Nick had been drifting near as Ron spoke up and opted to stay and chat a bit.

"Lucky there was anything at all this time," Nick said, staring longingly at the mashed potatoes.

"What'd'ya mean?" Ron said between mouthfuls.

"Oh, just a spot of trouble in the kitchen," Nick sighed. "Peeves, of course."

Brad had heard radio chatter about a response needed to the kitchen while they were waiting in the Humvee for the train to show up. Evidently, Peeves, upset at again not being invited to the Great Hall for the welcoming feast, decided to trash the kitchen and send the poor house elves ducking for cover. He'd heard that Sgt. Freeman had been on the responding team and had been the first to use an NCE-1 hand grenade, which performed admirably.

The Non-Corporeal Entity-1 grenade was developed in direct response to reports from the previous year about Peeves the Poltergeist and concerns about ghosts, which were not harmed by their weapons or most forms of magic. The grenades were actually ALSG1010C Hornet's Nest hand grenades that were enchanted with an ectoplasm removal spell. Upon detonation, seventy enchanted rubber balls erupted from the grenade in every direction and, as ghosts and poltergeists found the removal of ectoplasm to be somewhere between unpleasant and painful, they almost always left quickly.

The response team then helped repair the damage they'd done to the kitchen, which is to say they informed the nearby Professor Flitwick of the damage and he repaired it for them.

"Yes, he terrified the poor house-elves and the grenade didn't do their hearts any favors," Nick continued wistfully.

"There are house-elves here?" Hermione asked, looking appalled. "Here at Hogwarts, I mean." She clarified it, as though there was some possibility that Nick would think she was referring to somewhere else.

"Certainly," he said proudly. "More here than anywhere in Britain if memory serves."

"But," Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully, "I've never seen one."

"Well, of course you haven't," Nick said incredulously. "That's the mark of a good elf, after all. You never know they're there."

"But they get paid, right?" Hermione asked hopefully. Ron rolled his eyes. Hermione had been fuming over the treatment of a house elf she'd seen during the Quidditch Cup by Barty Crouch.

" _Paid?_ I should think not!" Nick gave her a look as though he was concerned with her mental health. "House-elves don't want to be paid, my dear." The ghost shook his head with a chuckle as he turned to float away, almost losing his head from its shoulders in the gesture. Hermione pushed her plate away with a pout.

"Hermione, not eating isn't gonna get them sick leave!" Ron protested the waste of her perfectly good food.

"Slave labor is what made this," she said poisonously, glaring at Ron. "I want no part of it." Brad noticed that, though Mike looked longingly at the rest of his plate of food, he didn't touch it again.

After what turned out to be an uncomfortably long time, mostly due to the sulky mood of Hermione and the sorrowful gaze of Mike, who was unwilling to cross his girlfriend on the issue, Dumbledore stood and the mostly empty plates and platters all emptied.

"Now that we are all fed and contented," the Headmaster smiled out at the students, "I have a few notes that I must bring to your attention." Hermione grunted when Dumbledore mentioned the food and Ron sat bolt upright at the mention of news.

Dumbledore went on explaining the normal rules of the school, listing off the ever-increasing number of contraband items that Filch the caretaker had come up with. The students were still not allowed in the Forbidden Forest and only students third year and above were permitted to go to Hogsmeade. He also explained that, once again, the school would host a compliment of soldiers that were authorized to keep the school and its students safe, and that the students were to obey the orders of them as though they came from a teacher.

"It is also my very painful duty to inform you all that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not be taking place this year." He said so in a grave voice, as though he was delivering the news of a death. There were many gasps of protest throughout the Great Hall, but they quickly died out when the Headmaster continued talking.

"I do have the pleasure of announcing that we will be hosting a very special event this year, the-" Dumbledore was cut off by a loud _boom_ as the doors to the Great Hall were thrown open, turning everyone's attention away.

A rhythmic _thump, thump, thump_ sounded with every other step as a man limped with purpose into the Great Hall, looking as though he was pulled straight from a horror movie. Brad had heard rumors of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher from some of the sentries that had encountered him so far.

He was tall, with long, dark gray hair and scars across the majority of his face that, if it were all of the picture, would have left the man looking like a hardcore badass. As the case was, however, he wore a long, dark trench coat that had been poorly cared for and the crowning jewel in his disturbing image was the eye.

His one eye was a dark, beady eye that bore the look of a man who had seen more than his due of fighting, a look Brad recognized in some of the soldiers he'd interacted with. His other eye was a strange, makeshift monocle with a piercing blue eye that whirled around in every direction, as though scanning every angle for threats.

He strode up the center of the Great Hall and was greeted by a gracious Dumbledore. "Please, allow me to introduce your new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, Professor Moody." Dumbledore said pleasantly, clapping as he finished the sentence. There was scattered applause from the crowd of students, most of the others too nervous to clap. If it bothered the professor that he wasn't an instant favorite, he didn't show it. He simply sat down and pulled out a knife, stabbing a sausage and taking a bite.

" _Mad-eye Moody!_ " Ron exclaimed. " _That's_ our new professor!?" Brad had never heard the name before, but he could see why that nickname stuck. The bright blue eye almost glowed and it didn't seem to matter if he was intently focused on something or deep in thought, the eye was always scanning and whirling around, never blinking.

"As I was saying," Professor Dumbledore began again as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, "this year we shall be the host of the Triwizard Tournament." Immediately cheers and clapping broke out at the tables around them and even Ron was jumping up and hooting. The reaction was clearly expected by the Headmaster, who made no attempt to talk over them for some time. As things died down a little bit, he continued.

"We will be hosting a number of students this year, both from Beauxbatons Academy and Durmstrang. They will arrive in early October and the champions will be selected on Halloween. Fame and glory await the champion of this tournament, and a prize of a thousand galleons. But beware, I _cannot_ understate the dangers presented by this tournament. Many strong individuals have died in the pursuit of the Triwizard Cup." Dumbledore paused a moment, eyeing the students.

"That is why, this year, the Ministry, along with the heads of each of our schools, decided that there should be an age restriction for those wishing to enter. No one younger than the age of seventeen will be permitted to compete," Dumbledore said, and for the first time he was interrupted by boos and complaints. They were short-lived, however, as the Headmaster gave a look that at once conveyed patience and disappointment.

"This is to be an advanced undertaking, to be certain, and once chosen, you are bound to compete. For now, though, it is time to bid you a wonderful year of learning, of exciting competition and for now, a good night!" He stepped down and the head boys and girls took the cue, gathering their students to take them to their respective common rooms.

"I can't _believe_ this trash!" Ron protested as he stood with the rest of them. "Age restriction, can you believe it!?"

"I wonder who it'll be," Harry said with a sound of excitement. This year, the excitement would be centered elsewhere.

"The Triwizard Tournament requires some really advanced knowledge to compete, stuff that we haven't even covered." Hermione was responding to Ron and Brad smiled. It was good to be back.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy sat gently in a booth at Doucasse's Delicatessen, one of the finest establishments in Diagon Alley. He had made a habit of coming once each Sunday for dinner, and sometimes took Narcissa out when she was feeling the need for such a thing.

It was a vice of his, to be certain. He'd always had a soft spot for high quality food. Often, he wondered how the pathetic masses could stomach the unpalatable excuses for sustenance offered by places such as the Leaky Cauldron. Eggs and toast? Hardly.

Lucius didn't look up at the waitress as she approached, preferring to keep his eye on the menu he'd just opened. It was for show, of course. He knew what he would get. He'd been craving the Wagyu rib eye steak, served with spicy radishes and a garnishment that, while he was uncertain the origin of, was something he'd grown quite fond of.

His attempts thus far to obtain the secret of this garnishment had proven less than fruitful, including an eighty galleon tip left to the chef. It was only a matter of time, of course, before he learned the secret of this recipe and could compel his wife to learn it. Until then, it was his favorite order on the menu.

He ordered his favored meal along with a glass of wine and smirked as the waitress left to place his order. Her hips swung so nicely underneath the tight skirt she wore. He'd never take her, to be sure, a waitress was beneath him. It wasn't difficult to appreciate the view, however.

"See something you like, friend?" a voice asked, knocking him out of his thoughts. Lucius looked up to see a tall man wearing what must be an expensive suit, for a muggle. He seemed oddly out of place, and yet supremely comfortable with himself as he twirled a stubby wand between his fingers.

"Do I know you?" Lucius asked, mostly out of politeness. He was certain that he did _not_ know the man. The newcomer smiled a crooked, wicked smile and took a seat on the opposite side of the booth.

"She's a beaut, lemme tell ya." He sat back in the booth as Lucius frowned in disapproval. Pulling the glasses from his face to wipe the lenses, he continued. "Estelle is her name. From Romania, believe it or not." He smiled that same crooked grin as he put the glasses on and leaned forward, as though to share a secret. "Get this, she's a pureblood too!" He rocked back into the booth, clearly satisfied with himself and clapped his hands together jovially.

"Is that so?" Lucius reached down to the booth beside him and grabbed his cane, holding the head of it. The concealed wand had saved him many times from crazed individuals.

"It is unbelievably so, my friend," he said, looking behind Lucius and smiling. When Lucius back, he saw the waitress coming back with his wine. "Thank you so much, darlin'," he said as she set the glass down. He pulled out several galleons and handed them to her as a tip, giving her shocked face a wink and sending her away. The man was apparently generous and it caught Malfoy's attention.

"Who exactly are you?" Lucius asked, impressed by the funds that this interloper surely had. The man cocked his head to the side and grinned.

"Oh, I get called all sorts of things. Mr. Eden if you want to get formal, but the friend's all call me Howard."


	37. Prepare for New Arrivals

"Not so worried about elf rights now, eh?" Ron asked as Hermione took a large bite of French toast, chewing it rapidly. Brad watched as she scowled at him, finishing her bite before answering.

"Of course, I am, Ronald," she sighed and the operators all smiled at the use of Ron's full name. It was something Hermione only did when he was irritating her. "But I've decided that starving myself won't help them."

"Sure," Ron said with a note of disinterest. He scooped another small pile of bacon over to his plate, opting to ignore her. Brad noticed that Mike was scarfing his food down just as rapidly as Hermione.

"You two have a hot date after breakfast or something?" Brad asked, fixing Mike with a curious smirk. He rolled his eyes and swallowed a partially chewed bite to answer, but Hermione still managed to beat him to the punch.

"We're going to the library before class," she said simply and continued eating her food. When Brad looked to Mike for some elaboration, the operator simply shrugged, as if to say it was out of his control. Within a few moments, they had both finished a healthy portion of food and were on their way.

"She's mental, that one," Ron shook his head as they left. The group took their time finishing breakfast, most of the conversation being centered on the upcoming tournament.

One of the wildest rumors so far was that the champions would have to fight each other to the death at the end of the tournament. It was absurd and Brad had a suspicion that the Weasley twins were to blame for the rumor, but it spread like wildfire.

By the time everyone was headed to their first class there was even an unofficial motto for the tournament, 'There Can Only Be One.' Brad saw the trio off to their class and then his team took a Humvee to FOB Phoenix for a briefing with Colonel Sumner about upcoming security arraignments for the arrival of the school delegations.

There was no road to FOB Phoenix, being that it was in the wooded hills to the northwest of Hogsmeade, but it looked like the engineer unit that was brought along to set up the base had been working on that problem. Since the previous night there was now a clearly marked path to take up to the FOB, though there were several checkpoints.

It was a winding path between trees and it was obvious that the engineers were planning to smooth things out as best they could. There were several pieces of heavy machinery along the path to the FOB. Brad was impressed by how quickly the base had been set up.

The majority of the prefab structures were in place when he'd first arrived and they were able to hold meetings in the command center. It looked like the engineers pulled a night duty because the base was coming together nicely.

The path leading to the FOB ended in a gated checkpoint with guard towers on either side. The perimeter of the base was enclosed with a ten-foot-tall prefab wall that connected to guard towers and armored fighting positions. Inside the base the communications towers were almost completely set up and operational, and the helicopter landing pads in the northeast corner of the base were being paved.

Brad could see a section of the base to the southeast where the M777 artillery guns were set up. The gun emplacements were dug into the ground a short distance away and the ammunition supply was near the fighting position. It was a sweet little set up and provided them with tremendous firepower should the situation call for it. Brad wasn't sure what situation that would be, but it was always a good feeling to have artillery on stand-by, just in case.

They parked the Humvee in the base's motor pool and walked to the command center. Inside, they found technicians scrambling every which way, setting up UAV monitoring and control platforms, radio banks, and other computerized networks that were necessary in today's battlefield.

Inside the conference room they found Colonel Sumner, Major Price, and the rest of the officers assigned to the Triwizard Security Force. Brad took a seat next to Lieutenant Knight, the leader of Phantom team. They were another Operator team, like Reaper.

"What's up, brother?" Knight asked, greeting the fellow operators, and holding his hand out for a fist bump. Brad smiled at the Lieutenant and gave him the fist bump.

"Living the dream, man," Brad said. It was a familiar greeting that they'd developed during their operator training. They greeted each other that way every time they saw one another. Brad was glad to have Knight and his team here at the FOB, it was always good to have some fellow operators like Phantom around.

All of the Spartans had trained together since they were youths, but the ones selected for the Operator Selection Course were, for several years, a separate and more closely knit group during their training. It was brutal and it never got easier, but it turned each of them into some of the most effective fighters in the Army.

"I think that's everyone," Colonel Sumner said. "Thanks for being here." There were a few knowing chuckles, being that the meeting was definitely _not_ optional. "First order of business is the situation with FOB Phoenix. It's coming together nicely; the engineers have done a hell of a job. Permanent communications networks will be operational by the end of the day and by early tomorrow we should have the network in place to operate our drones."

They had a variety of UAVs at their disposal that would make watching the perimeter of Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, and the FOB much simpler. The operators, through use of their SOLDA wrist computers, would have access to drones as well.

"The artillery emplacements are set and later today the Fire Direction Control teams will be going out to survey the hills, Hogsmeade, and Hogwarts to streamline any future fire missions that might be needed. We'll have everything mapped out." Sumner turned the page of his briefing statement, moving on to the next subject.

"Once the radio system is online, operations command will be under the callsign Kingpin." It was the same callsign that had been used the previous year. There was no reason to fix something that wasn't broken. "We are going with biweekly platoon rotations between the school, Hogsmeade, and here at Phoenix. The only exception is Reaper. Captain Gordon, you're going to maintain your current assignment for the duration of the year. Phantom is assigned to the FOB and will be assigned roles as needed."

"Copy that," both of the operator team leaders said in unison.

"The foreign school delegations will be arriving at approximately 1600 hours on October 30th. 4th Platoon will be reassigned to that event for the day from its reserve status. For that event, Reaper, you will escort the group from the aircraft. Phantom is going to be on the watercraft. QRF will be 1st squad, 2nd platoon, and they'll be in the air for the duration of the landing."

The next hour was spent going over the details of how everything was expected to go. They were apparently traveling in enchanted vehicles, a flying carriage, and a submersible ship. Exact paths were plotted and units assigned to patrols or stand-by presence. By the end of the meeting everyone knew their individual assignments.

* * *

It was lunch time when Reaper team found its way back to the school. They were headed into the courtyard to try and find their charges when they heard a shouting match.

"You'd better steer clear of talk about my mother!" Malfoy's voice echoed through the hall. Brad and Mike exchanged glances before darting around the corner.

In the court yard stood Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. The two sidekicks of Malfoy had been steering clear of the soldiers since the arrest of their fathers in connection with the riot during the Quidditch Cup. Opposite them stood Ron, flanked by Harry and Hermione. The six students were squared off as though ready to fight.

"Steer clear!?" Ron exclaimed, "I wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole!" He turned on his heels to leave, his ears bright red. It happened so fast it took Brad's mind a second to catch up. A green streak of light skipped past Ron's head, barely missing Hermione as well, and Malfoy was standing with his wand pointed at the trio. _Fuck!_ He started to lift his rifle but was beaten to the punch.

"OH, NO YOU DON'T!" a grizzled old voice bellowed, pushing past Brad. He recognized the telltale limp immediately as Professor Moody, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Brad glanced at the professor, first thinking that the man was admonishing _him_ for trying to raise his rifle. It was clear after a moment, however, that Moody was talking to Malfoy.

He had his own wand outstretched and when Brad looked back to Malfoy, he was gone. In his place, between the two confused looking goons Malfoy called friends, there was instead a white ferret.

"I'll-teach-you-to-draw-," each word was punctuated by the Professor drawing his wand up, taking the ferret up into the air, then dropping it and catching it just before it hit the ground, repeating over and over, "-your-wand-when-your-opponent's-back's-turned-"

"Professor, what are you doing?" Professor McGonagall had appeared beside Brad, who was watching with a mixture of amusement and dumbfoundedness. He'd never seen something like it before, and judging by the small crowd of students watching, neither had they.

"Teaching," he replied simply, never taking his focus off of the task. McGonagall nodded her head in understanding, perhaps out of habit, because immediately after she shot the Professor a deeply concerned look.

"That's not-" she cut herself off, as though the question had been too absurd to ask. She asked anyway. "That's not a _student_ is it?"

"It's a coward is what it is!" Moody swung the ferret higher into the sky to punctuate the sentence. McGonagall looked horrified. Her wand was out in a flash and, up in the sky, the ferret turned back into Malfoy. He was lowered roughly to the ground by the Professor who then whirled on Moody.

"We _never_ use transfiguration as a punishment!" she hollered at him. He grumbled something in response, but whatever it was, Brad didn't catch it. He had just closed the gap between his team and the trio, who were looking on in stunned amusement.

"That was incredible," Ron said, mono-toned in wonder. Malfoy got up screeching something, in an octave higher than one might consider manly, about how his father would hear about the incident. Moody simply yelled back a retort that indicated he was quite familiar with the eldest Malfoy.

Brad led the trio away from the courtyard and to the cafeteria for lunch. The whole way Ron couldn't stop talking about the incident, savoring every moment of Malfoy's terror.

"He's amazing," Ron said about Professor Moody.

"You shouldn't have been egging Malfoy on, dude," Mike replied. It had been hilarious, but Ron had been very close to getting hit with some form of curse or spell. "He almost nailed you."

"Yeah, but he didn't." Ron seemed to think this was an adequate defense, and Mike just shook his head in wonder.

Mike and Hermione sped through their meal, again with plans to go to the library after the meal. They were teased relentlessly about what they were _really_ up to, but they remained silent, if not a little pink in the cheeks.

The next class was Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was one of Harry's best subjects and was now only more exciting after seeing how the Professor handled his archenemy. Due to the fact that there were no confirmed threats against Harry and his friends, school bullies notwithstanding, the operators were no longer attending classes.

They were to more or less stick by the trio, but no longer needed to be next to them at all times. So, while the three friends were in class, Brad and his team sat down at the end of the tower, waiting for the class to end.

"So, you and Hermione are getting a bit heavy, eh?" Jason asked, elbowing his friend in the ribs. Mike let his head go limp, hitting it with a dull _smack_ against the wall.

"It's not like that, bro. We're in the _library_ ," he insisted. They'd been teasing him due to his reluctance to tell them what they were up to. Brad wasn't worried about anything serious and knew that he could trust Mike to come clean.

"Sure, sure," Jason teased. "Under normal circumstances, I'd agree, but..." he trailed off and Mike took the bait.

"But?" He looked over at Jason as though waiting for a punchline.

"But...it's _Hermione_ we're talking about. If anyone was gonna want some lovin' around books-" Jason was cut off by an only semi-playful punch in the arm. Jason raised his hands in surrender.

"Just saying, bro, just saying!" he laughed.

"She's not that girl, dude." Mike said. They all knew it, and Mike knew they did. Didn't stop them from trying to get a rise out of him though.

"We know, Mike," Brad said, killing the subject. They sat there in silence for a moment before Jason tried again.

"But what are you guys doing in there?" he asked. Mike buried his face in his hands in mock defeat. Before the line of questioning could go any further, however, they heard the stampede of footsteps indicating that class had been released.

"Finally," Mike shot up first, spotting Hermione. The three of them stopped as the remaining operators got to their feet. "How was class?" Mike asked in a concerned tone. When Brad looked up, he saw the worried features of the students.

"It was-" Ron started, the only one of the three who didn't look concerned, but he was cut off by Hermione.

"He used the unforgivable curses," she said hotly. Ron rolled his eyes.

"On a _spider_ ," he said. "Yeah, it was a bit much, but you can tell he's _been there."_

"Did you not see Neville's face?" Hermione asked Ron, concerned with his cavalier attitude about it. They headed to the next class, talking about the strange and intense first day in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

In the days after, Brad pieced together that the unforgivable curses were three curses wizarding society as a whole had banned from use. One for controlling a mind, one for killing, and one for torture. He found out at the same time that Neville's parents had been driven insane after long-term torture.

After finding that out he'd gone to Major Price to inform him. It was above his pay grade to interfere in schooling and the Major had a similar opinion.

"I have been told explicitly by Headmaster Dumbledore that he trusts his staff. What they do or do not teach in the classroom is not our concern, you hear?" Price asked.

"Understood, sir." Brad left it at that.

He instead forced himself to focus on the upcoming arrival of international students, assisting in the preparation as much as he could.


	38. New Arrivals

"All elements, Kingpin, Eagle has eyes on an incoming aircraft." The voice of their command and control operator in Brad's ear was clear, undoubtedly thanks to the large communications relay set up at FOB Phoenix. Eagle was their UAV unit's callsign. That meant that the French students were getting near. "ETA to touchdown is five mikes, how copy?" Brad sighed gently, knowing what came next.

"Gator 1-1, copy."

"Gator 1-2, affirm."

"Gator 2-1, copy."

"Gator 2-2, copies."

"Talon 1-1, copy."

"Dagger 1-1 and 1-2, copy."

"Phantom, copy."

The list went on and on as units acknowledged Kingpin, until finally Brad had his turn. "Reaper, copy."

The Bulgarians were expected to show up in some kind of submersible ship, so Sumner ordered both of the Special Operations Craft-Ravine, or SOC-R boats, which were obtained by the JSOC leadership from US Navy SWCC.

The vessels were helicopter transportable swift-water boats that were armed to the teeth, fast, and reasonably quiet. That is until you disturbed them. In their current configuration, there was a Mk. 19 grenade launcher on the bow, an M134 minigun on either side of that, and to the rear, a pair of dual M240b light machine guns. The sheer amount of lead and ordinance that could be brought to bear from one of those boats was devastating and Brad was glad he'd never been on the opposing end of one.

"Dagger 1-1, contact." Brad looked out to the water. 1st squad, 2nd platoon, with the callsign Dagger, had been the lucky sons of bitches that got assigned to the SOC-R boats. Between both of the military boats a large vessel that looked for all the world like a pirate ship was pushing its way up out of the lake.

"Dude," Mike muttered next to Brad, obviously watching the same thing. "Magic is fuckin' crazy."

"Yeah," Brad agreed. The ships nose, which was elevated on its exit from the depths of the lake, splashed down and forced the Dagger guys to ride the waves. Thankfully, the SOC-R boats were more than capable of handling it.

In a few moments the water had calmed down and Brad saw the ship skillfully brought alongside the bank of the lake, an anchor thrown overboard and a long plank extended to the ground. As figures began disembarking Brad started hearing more radio traffic.

"Gator 2-1, contact, southeast." That was also in the direction of the lake. "In the sky," the soldier helpfully clarified. When Brad looked up, sure enough, there was something of an absurd scene in the sky as well.

At first glance it seemed like perhaps a house or something of equal size flinging across the sky. As it got closer Brad could see more clearly, however. Massive horses were pulling a giant carriage behind them...flying. It was like an insane mixture of Cinderella and Santa. They watched on as the carriage pushed down toward the grounds at the front of the school, then dipped up, then back down again. Whoever was unfortunate enough to be inside that damned carriage had to be ill.

Brad watched in horror as the horses angled down at almost a ninety-degree angle and was _certain_ that the carriage was about to crash and they would have a mass casualty event on their hands. At the last possible second, the horses angled forward and began running along the ground as though it was the most natural thing in the world. The carriage touched down a few hundred feet in front of him and didn't make even the slightest sound as it touched down.

"Fuckin' crazy," Brad agreed again. He, along with the rest of Reaper team, would be greeting them as they exited. Phantom was already at the waterside beckoning the students to follow them to the castle.

The carriage came to a stop about a hundred feet away and Brad marveled for a moment at the large horses before he started to walk forward. He reminded himself of the warning given to him by Major Price about the headmistress, Madame Maxine.

"Don't stare or mention anything about her size," he'd told the operator. "Apparently she's sensitive about it."

The carriage door came down. It was large and opened downward into steps. _Neat_. Out of it stepped a large, _large_ woman. Not fat, though, like Brad was expecting. Instead, she was tall. Similar to Hagrid, only somehow taller by at least a head.

"Hot damn," Mike muttered, just audible enough for Brad to hear it. They closed the rest of the distance as students began filing out of the carriage behind their headmistress.

"Ma'am." Brad extended his hand for a shake without thinking. She looked at it and smiled widely, as though touched by the gesture, and then engulfed his hand in her own.

"Eet is a plea'zur to meet you," she said. When she let go, Brad placed his now small feeling hand on the stock of his rifle, which hung comfortably in front of him.

"The pleasure's all mine," he replied. "I'm Captain Gordon, this is my team. We're here to escort you to the Great Hall."

"My 'orses." She gestured to them with a look of concern on her face. "They will need tending."

"I'll get someone on that," Brad said, giving Jason to his left a pointed look. Jason contacted the squad that was currently assisting Hagrid in wrangling a couple of escaped Skrewts which had blasted their way out of the little paddock. Hagrid had built a more secure location already but the Skrewts were growing more rapidly than was expected. While Jason relayed the message, Brad took a look at the last of the students filing out of the carriage, all crowding behind their vertically over-blessed headmistress.

They were all wearing soft looking blue garments that didn't look much thicker than silk. All of them were huddling together and a few of the luckier ones were wrapping scarves around their necks. Not one of them had a heavier jacket for the cold weather, though. One last person was exiting the carriage, and she caught Brad's attention.

It was _her._ The blonde girl from the Quidditch Cup. His heart seemed to skip a beat when he locked eyes with hers as she made it to the last step, and he caught himself starting to step toward her. He forced himself to stop and the headmistress gave him a quizzical look. _Focus!_

"After you, Captain," Madame Maxine said, gesturing to the castle with a shiver. Brad nodded in affirmation and turned, leading the way. The large woman kept a polite distance behind him, speaking softly to her charges.

Ahead, Brad could see Phantom team disappearing into the main doors with the delegation from Durmstrang. It took them only a few moments to make their way inside. He had to slow down a bit once they'd made it into the castle, as the students were gripping each other excitedly and chatting in rapid-fire French that he couldn't understand, pointing to paintings and suits of armor.

Regardless of their pace, it wasn't long before they'd made it to the Great Hall. Brad and Jason opened the main doors and held them open for everyone as they passed through.

He was surprised when he looked inside. The Great Hall, somehow, looked to be larger. There were two more long tables, much like the ones that seated each of the Hogwarts houses. The Durmstrang students were already seated at one, so his group started to the other table.

He caught another glance at _her_ as she walked past him. She seemed to be lost in a conversation with one of the girls next to her. As she walked by though, he smelled some intoxicating blend of vanilla and cinnamon and had to stop himself from trying to get a better smell. _The fuck, man, get a grip._

"Madame Maxine," Dumbledore welcomed the headmistress with open arms. She leaned in from the bottom of the steps leading to the staff table and Dumbledore politely kissed her on the cheek in greeting. They said something that Brad couldn't hear.

"Dude," Jason whispered, "you good?"

"Squared away," Brad said without thinking. She was certainly distracting, whoever she was.

"Now that our guests have arrived," Dumbledore said loudly, flanked by Madame Maxine and the headmaster of Durmstrang, "let's give them a hearty welcome in the best way we know how!"

The Hogwarts students stood up in unison and Brad only had the briefest moment to wonder what was coming next. The headmaster began waving his hands as though conducting a symphony and the students began to sing.

 _Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts  
Teach us something please  
Whether we be old and bald  
Or young with scabby knees_

"Wow," Mike said, suddenly beside Brad. "So, this is happening." He was smiling from ear to ear, never one to miss the joy in something. Brad had to admit, seeing the uncomfortable look on the faces of their guests was definitely amusing.

After a painfully long chorus, scattered applause broke out from the foreign delegations, the boys and girls of Beauxbatons being the politer of the two schools by a long shot.

"Thank you all," Dumbledore said, gesturing at the students to be seated. "Thank you all so much for coming. We are delighted to have you here and hope that your stay will be most comfortable. For now, let us feast."

Food filled up the plates and this time there were foreign additions. Brad took a seat at the operators table, where Harry and Ron were in a heated discussion already.

"It's _VICTOR KRUM!"_ Ron announced, judging by the eye roll from Hermione it wasn't the first time. The two of them talked about how best to approach getting an autograph while Mike sat next to Hermione and asked how her classes had been.

Brad heard her complain about how the courses had been all but useless today, as no one was paying attention. He didn't listen to more of the conversation, however. His eyes drifted to the sea of blue robes that were all huddled together at their table, near where the Ravenclaw students sat.

He easily picked her out of the crowd and, not for the first time, wondered what her name was. She gave whomever she was talking to a half-smile, clearly not interested in whatever was being said. Brad felt it like a blow to his gut for a moment and wanted to do _anything_ to make her smile fuller.

Realizing what he was thinking, he immediately shook his head slightly and turned back to the table. Damn it, she seemed to have him hooked somehow. He picked at his food, forcing his mind off of the desire to go introduce himself to get her name.

Finally, as utensils were set down by satiated students, Dumbledore stood again. With a wave of his hand, the dishes and platters all cleared and everyone turned their attention to the headmaster. Behind him, Barty Crouch Sr and Ludo Bagman were standing. Apparently, they'd slipped in while Brad was picking at his food.

"The Tournament will begin at the conclusion of this speech. So, I should like to begin with a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket-" Dumbledore began.

"They weren't kidding about dangerous, eh?" Jason muttered. Brad wondered about it himself.

"-and explain how the tournament will progress. Before I do so, however, I would like to introduce Mr. Bartimus Crouch and Mr. Ludo Bagman. Both work for the Ministry of Magic and have worked many tireless hours to bring this event together, so I believe a round of applause is in order." The students complied and, while Mr. Crouch looked slightly irritated by the attention, Bagman appeared to bask in it, waving his hand at the students in appreciation.

"Wonderful," Dumbledore smiled. "Now, the casket if you would, Mr. Filch." The caretaker hurried off out of the Great Hall, to wherever the casket was being stored. "Now, the gentlemen from the Ministry, along with each head of the school, will form the panel that will judge the champions on their execution of three tasks, set throughout the year. These tasks will challenge the champions on their magical prowess, bravery, intelligence, and their ability, of course, to handle danger." By the mention of danger, all stirring among the students had stopped and everyone listened intently.

"The champions will be selected by a most impartial judge, the Goblet of Fire." As though to punctuate the headmaster's words, the Great Hall doors opened and Mr. Filch dragged in a large wheeled case, the contents of which were obscured by wooden paneling. "Prospective champions will have the next twenty-four hours to place a parchment with their name and school in the Goblet-" Dumbledore paused as Mr. Filch reached the bottom steps. Dumbledore unhinged a panel and pulled out a rough looking wooden goblet that contained dancing blue flames. "Tomorrow night, at the Halloween Feast, the Goblet will present the champions it has deemed most worthy to represent their schools."

Dumbledore raised the Goblet for everyone to see and, when he was satisfied they had seen it, handed the Goblet to Mr. Filch again, who whisked it away and out of the Great Hall.

"The Goblet will reside at the end of the first-floor corridor," Dumbledore explained as many of the students watched Mr. Filch leave. "Those of you who are too young this year to participate, know that this is for your safety. These tasks are dangerous and many great witches and wizards have lost their lives and more to the great challenges. Once selected, there is no turning back. To place your name in the Goblet of Fire constitutes a binding magical contract, so be certain that you are ready."

"To ensure that no underage witch or wizard places their name into the Goblet, I have drawn an Age Line around it. No one under the age of seventeen will be able to cross it. For now, I think it is time for everyone to get some rest. Good night to all of you."

After Dumbledore dismissed everyone, Brad watched groups of students scatter, the more ambitious of them seeking students from the other schools to talk to. Others seemed to be making their way out of the Great Hall.

"An _Age Line!_ " Fred quipped as he and his twin brother passed. "I think an Aging Potion ought to fool that-" They continued the conversation as they walked out of the Great Hall. Hermione was mentioning to Mike that Dumbledore wouldn't be so easily fooled by an Aging Potion.

"You're 'im, aren't you?" Brad heard a soft, melodic voice behind him. It wasn't the voice, which did sound familiar, that gave it away though. Again, Brad smelled the intoxicating blend of vanilla and cinnamon that he'd smelled when she passed him earlier. With a knot in his stomach, he turned around.

She was standing there, her beautiful face tight and almost business-like. Her hair was tied back in an elegant style of ponytail that he'd never seen before.

"I'm gonna be a professional Quidditch player," Ron said, apparently having made his way over to Brad. Brad turned and gave the boy an unfiltered look that said _what the fuck?_ And then turned back to see that the girls' placid face had suddenly become acidic. He was glad that he wasn't on the receiving end of it.

"Zat is nice," she said tightly, "but, we were 'aving a conversation."

"I'm just saying." Ron seemed unfazed. "I'm a little more exciting than- AGH!" That was as far as Ron made it, as Brad had heard enough. He wasn't sure what had come over the idiot, but he grabbed Ron by the ear and yanked it to the side, turning him around and pushing him to the door.

"Go cool down, turbo." Brad said, letting go of the ear. Mike had an amused look, though Hermione was decidedly more irritated as they escorted Ron out of the Great Hall while he nursed his ear.

"A beautiful veela-girl like you," another, unfortunately familiar, voice said before Brad had the chance to turn back to her, "shouldn't be hanging out with rabble like that, anyway." Draco Malfoy had stepped rather close to her side. She closed her eyes as though calming herself and spoke in an even voice.

"Do zey all butt in to conversations when zey're unwanted?" she asked, making a point not to look at Malfoy. Anger flushed through his eyes but Brad responded quicker.

"That one's pretty good at it, yeah. Gets in spots where he's not wanted." Brad stared at Malfoy seriously as he spoke. "You could say he's something of a ferret in that way." He couldn't help a half-smile as Malfoy's look went from angry to nervous. He caught on too late to save face however and turned to leave.

"Not a pureblood, anyway." Malfoy made sure to mutter it loud enough for them to hear, a final parting shot. If it bothered her, she didn't show it.

"Sorry, that was insane," Brad said, looking into her beautiful blue eyes. He almost lost himself for a moment and continued. "Haven't seen them act like that." He turned back to see Malfoy sneering at them as he left the Great Hall.

"I'm used to it," she said simply. "I wanted to thank you, for what you did for me and my sister." Her accent had all but disappeared, in correlation with her tight muscles slackening and relaxing as she noted people leaving them alone.

"Of course," Brad said without hesitation. "That's my job. I'm Captain Gordon, by the way. You can call me Brad." He extended his hand for a shake. She hesitated a moment, glancing down at his hand with a wary look. Before he could retract it, however, she gripped it lightly. Her soft fingers almost seemed to gracefully caress his hand and he found himself disappointed when it was over.

"Fleur Delacour," she replied. Her cheeks started to shade a slight pink as they stood there for a moment, neither sure what to say, before she broke the silence. "I'd better go. 'Ave a good night."

"You as well," he said. "Sleep sweet." She faltered in her step a moment and he couldn't tell if he saw part of a smile or not. Either way, she didn't have any other reaction as she left _Sleep sweet?_ _Fuckin' A, Brad!_

She turned out of the Great Hall and left toward her carriage and Brad stood for a moment. So, Fleur was her name. It had a nice sound to it. He decided to head up to the Gryffindor Tower for the night and left.

* * *

Private First Class Mason stood on his side of the door, flanking the room where the Goblet of Fire was placed. PFC Rivera stood on the other side. They were an added measure of security for the Goblet and had already turned away a number of students that were underage.

There was no real question as to whether or not the Age Line would work. Dumbledore had a legendary reputation for his very powerful magic and his extremely quick mind. However, the added security was an easy thing for the Triwizard Security Force to provide and it had proven an effective deterrent.

They'd actually turned back Fred and George Weasley twice so far. The first time they'd drank an age potion. The soldiers convinced the duo that even if the potion worked to get them past the Age Line, they would be put to the ground and escorted back to the Gryffindor dormitory.

Not a half an hour later, they saw a pair of paper airplanes sail overhead toward the Goblet. The aim was off by quite a bit and Mason sent his partner to investigate. Sure enough, the Weasley twins were around the corner with several reams of parchment, evidently planning to rely on luck.

Now, it was coming up on 2300 hours and they hadn't seen a student for several hours. It was anticipated that a small number would try to get their names in before the night was out, but the rest would wait until the day. Mason was thankful he was pulling night shift for that reason.

Down the hall they saw a...not quite _familiar,_ but distinct, figure approaching. The painful looking gait favored one side and the whirling blue eye always kept them wondering. They stayed silent as he slowly approached, allowing him to talk first.

"Gentlemen," he greeted them, his tongue darting out of his mouth. "Here to place one more layer of protection for Dumbledore, not that we need it with you here. With the Weasley twins about, though, can't be too safe."

Mason smiled knowingly and gestured that the man was welcome to enter, and he did. They kept their eyes fixed on the Entrance Hall, alert for the next attempt at an intrusion.

Within a few moments, the Professor was done and bid them goodnight. They physically relaxed as he departed and kept a close eye out for the rest of the night.


	39. Choosing Champions

AN - The Dungeon Crawler brought up a good point in a review that I don't recall touching base on. This being an AU story and me enjoying the modern military technology, I have bumped the time frame of the Harry Potter universe up to current(ish) times in my story. We are getting into stuff I'm much more excited about, I hope you guys enjoy!

* * *

Brad heard footsteps in the room, which pulled him out of his light sleep. It was strange to him, sleeping in a full bed. With more Gryffindor students graduating than had been replaced this year by new students, there were open beds. Since there was currently no _direct_ threat to Harry, Brad had been informed by Major Price that they were not required to sleep downstairs with one of them on guard duty. They were simply to be on hand if necessary. Brad made sure everyone made it to their beds safely and was often the first awake.

Regardless of the comfortable bed, Brad found that he slept lightly. He'd spent a lot of time in the field and had trouble getting into a real, deep sleep. It wasn't something he dwelt on, it was just a fact of life.

"Hey, bro." Mike's voice sounded behind Brad, who was laying on his side. Brad rolled and sat up.

"What's up?" he asked, looking at his watch. It was 0528, he was due to get up in a few minutes anyway.

"Everyone's up," Mike replied. He was already dressed, though not in gear. He was wearing the olive drab cargo pants that he only wore when relaxing, along with his multi-cam quarter zip jacket. "Hermione and I wanted to talk to you guys about something." If he didn't seem so at ease, Brad would have been worried it was serious.

"Be down in a sec," Brad said, throwing the blanket off and getting up. He was fully dressed in his uniform and gear belt in a couple of minutes and then headed downstairs. Mike and Hermione were busying themselves with the final touches of what looked like some sort of presentation. Jason, Eric, Harry and Ron were all seated on couches in the common room. Brad took a seat between Jason and Eric.

"Well," Hermione said, clearly a little nervous. She turned, holding a pair of tin containers. One was empty and the other was full of buttons and patches emblazoned with S.P.E.W. She passed them out to them wordlessly, patches to the operators and buttons to her fellow students.

"Spew?" Ron asked, turning the button over and examining it.

" _No,"_ she said, exasperatedly. "Not spew, S.P.E.W. The Society for Promotion of Elvish Welfare, S.P.E.W. We _can't_ all sit idly by while elves are enslaved. I really can't believe no one has tried to do this before..." Hermione trailed off, pensively.

"That's because they're actually _happy."_ Ron said, tossing the button next to him on the couch. Hermione shot him a dark look and both Mike and Jason looked at him like he was crazy to have spoken out.

"They're _brainwashed,_ Ronald!" Hermione snapped at him. He picked the button back up without thinking about it and she continued. "They've been enslaved for so long that they don't know any better."

"So, we're raising awareness." Mike added helpfully. He'd slapped the S.P.E.W patch to the chest of his plate carrier, which was sitting next to a chair. Hermione smiled at him and Brad couldn't help smiling as well. _Damn, she had him._

"Count me in," Brad said, helpfully. He slipped the patch into his pocket. His plate carrier was upstairs, but he'd mount it later.

"Membership costs two sickles," Hermione said, biting her lip. She knew he wasn't paid in wizarding currency. "For the patches and buttons, and our newsletter."

"I'll figure something out," Brad said.

She divvied up assignments, telling a rather overwhelmed looking Ron that he would be secretary and needed to start taking notes. She assigned Harry to the role of treasurer and, unsurprisingly, Mike was Vice Chair.

With business taken care of, they headed down to the Great Hall. They were surprised to see so many people already down for breakfast. Saturdays were usually a day in which students slept in and were generally lazy.

This morning the excitement over champion selection would be keeping everyone awake. The group worked on breakfast while Mike dished out patches to unsuspecting troopers from 2nd platoon and Hermione solicited fellow students. A few seemed to humor her, but most were uninterested or hostile to the idea.

"I was thinking," Harry said, pushing eggs around his plate with his fork. "Did you want to keep sparring?"

Brad looked up. Harry had come a long way in a short time. He wasn't quite the nervous young student he once was. He had a lean musculature to him now, not just a skinny kid. He did have some work ahead of him though if he wanted to be a competent fighter.

"Sounds great," Brad said, smiling. It really did. He kept his skills honed with the other Reaper guys, sometimes he'd break the monotony with an operator from another team. It was something of a pleasure teaching someone else, though. "After breakfast?"

"Sure," Harry agreed.

"I still think we ought to get over to Hagrid's," Hermione said, having made it back from her semi-successful canvasing of the Great Hall. "It's been a while, you know?"

Ron and Harry both agreed. They made plans to go see Hagrid at 1500. That gave time for a morning sparring session and whatever else was decided on. When breakfast was over, they headed their separate ways.

Mike had plans for Hermione and steadfastly refused to tell her what they were. Jason and Eric were planning an afternoon in the Hogwarts Armory, cleaning weapons and gear, while Harry and Brad had their sparring session.

As they exited the Great Hall, Brad saw a familiar form moving across the Entrance Hall with purpose and grace. Fleur was determinedly making her way to the Goblet of Fire, a slip of parchment in her hand. She glanced at Brad as she passed.

"Good luck," he said automatically. Harry gave him a questioning look and she gave him a half smile. He couldn't help watching her walk for a moment, a small part of him wishing he was alongside her. He pushed the thought aside and continued with Harry to an empty classroom where they could work on their hand-to-hand combat skills.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked. Mike was dragging her by the hand, one of the scarves given to her by Mrs. Weasley tied around her eyes. It was almost noon and she wondered where they could be going. If it took any length of time, they might miss lunch.

"You'll see," Mike said, giving her hand a gentle tug. She couldn't help but smile as she was led along. She could tell they were outside and, judging by how soft the ground was getting she suspected they were somewhere near the lake.

It wasn't warm outside, but neither was it particularly cold. The real saving grace was that it wasn't wet. The sun was warm on her forehead through the slight nip in the air and she thought that it must have dried the dew by now.

She kicked an unseen rock and lost her balance, but, like always, Mike was there to catch her.

"You okay?" he asked, a hand on her shoulder where he'd caught her. She nodded, though not being able to see was _killing_ her. He led her on, more cautiously this time.

Finally, after what seemed like it took forever, she felt things cool and the brightness disappeared from the edges of her scarf. She was out of the sun and he stopped her.

"Okay, close your eyes." he told her. She started to protest that she couldn't see through the scarf anyway, but she felt him pulling it off and decided to honor his wishes. She tightly closed her eyes.

"So, I did some digging," Mike explained. "I found out that you have a _summer_ birthday, which means you've never celebrated it here at school."

"I really don't-" she started, not wanting him to be making a big deal about it. She'd never had a birthday at school and she didn't feel like she was missing much. It wasn't a big deal. He didn't let her continue, however.

"Shhhhhh," he pushed his finger to her lips playfully and she couldn't help but smile and comply. "I wondered to myself, what would Hermione want...whatd'ya think?"

She opened an eye cautiously, looking to him for a reaction. She found that he was standing out of the way, however. Where she'd expected to find him, instead laid a checkered picnic blanket. On one side there was a paper plate stacked tall with little sandwiches that were diagonally cut, a preference she'd shared with him last year.

Th ere were other hors d'oeuvres spread around the blanket, which was situated in the shade beneath a tree and overlooking the lake. To the other side of the blanket, a stack of books on the history of house-elves.

"Oh, Mike," Hermione exclaimed softly, her hand reflexively covering her mouth. It was _perfect._ He smiled at her reaction.

"Glad you like it," he said, gesturing toward it. He opened his mouth to say something else about it but she cut him off.

There were butterflies in her stomach and she was so nervous, but it felt right.

She reached out to his hand and reigned him in. He allowed himself to be pulled close to her and she held his body against hers, pushing up onto the tips of her toes to kiss him. The butterflies left the second her lips touched his.

"It's perfect," she whispered through breathless lips. She felt his smile rather than saw it and kissed him again.

She let him finish setting things up. He propped himself up against the tree and she laid her head on his lap, each of them taking to a book and reading, listening to each other breathe and to the sounds of the lake.

Every now and then, one of them came across some interesting fact. Mike learned that King Carmine the Perfect was among the first owners of house-elves and it was reportedly less than cordial. Hermione was interested to learn that house-elves operated on a whole different plane of magic.

Mike was rapt in his listening as she explained what she'd learned, along with her conjecture. She found that they really had no need for wands in the first place and that many counter-curses and spells really weren't effective at stopping elves. For example, anti-apparition wards were not effective against elves.

They debated for a bit over whether or not that was a natural talent or if it had been bred into them somehow to assist in their service of witches and wizards. He asked intelligent questions and truly listened to every word she said and she relished in every moment. It really was _perfect_.

* * *

"Remind me again why Hagrid isn't doing this?" Jason asked wearily as he popped his neck. He and Brad were stooped behind the wall to the pumpkin patch, taking cover from random blasts of fire that erupted from the rear ends of the hideous creatures they'd been tasked with restraining. "Not that I'm complaining, but-" Jason was interrupted by a gout of flame that shot up over the small stone wall. Brad and Jason both gripped their shotguns tighter.

"Yeah," Brad sighed. Apparently, the Care of Magical Creatures Professor had been tasking the 4th year students with caring for Blast-Ended Skrewts. They were currently dog-sized, armored nightmares that seemed to be a cross of scorpion and crab with a flamethrower added, because why not?

The Professor had placed twenty or so of the creatures in a hardened cage and the remaining five were left in the pumpkin patch. Soon, the Professor got word that the creatures were wreaking havoc on the patch and threatening to break free. Instead of handling it himself, he'd apparently been tied up elsewhere, and Reaper team had been voluntold to handle it.

"They're righ' well armored, them creatures," Hagrid had said over a radio, borrowed from one of the school patrols. "You'll need somethin' big to crack the shell, but I'm hopin' yeh can jus' calm 'em down."

That had been about twenty minutes ago and Brad appreciated the fact that he'd seen fit to equip Jason, Eric and himself with M1 Tactical shotguns, along with 12ga slug ammunition. Rather than the BB's used in buckshot, the slug was a solid, roughly bullet shaped piece of metal, that would hopefully penetrate the creature's armored shell.

"His expertise would maybe help. Yeah," Eric said, several feet away and also ducking beneath the stone wall.

"I wish we had grenades." Jason almost sounded emotional, though he was certain it was the hair. His head had been a little too close to the top of the wall during the first blast and it singed a swath of hair from the left side of Jason's head. His skin was a little red, but he'd be okay. He was pissed about the uneven look it was giving him though.

"We're not fragging a bunch of crab-dogs," Brad said. This was ridiculous. They'd sat there with their thumbs up their asses for long enough. He'd just pop up and nail one. When their focus was on him, the others could get up and start firing. _Fuck calming the damn things!_

As though to punctuate his thought, another gout of flame blasted over the top of the wall above his head. At the same time, he noticed a large group of boys and girls gathering some distance away, no doubt attracted by the promise of action. They were mostly clad in heavy fur coats, but there were a few robes and silky blue uniforms in the mix.

When the flame stopped, Brad seized his chance and stood, shouldering the rifle. Much closer than he'd anticipated, a Skrewt shrieked at him. It whipped the stinger on its tail toward Brad but not in time. The shotgun kicked hard against his shoulder as he placed a slug right into the front, where he hoped its head was.

"Holy shit," Jason yelled, their ears ringing from the discharge of the shotgun. He'd apparently jumped up at the same time.

It was a turkey shoot from there. They executed the remaining three creatures from the safety of the wall, the fourth apparently having been burned to a crisp at some point during their battle.

Brad had worried about the reaction of the students. The sight of soldiers killing helpless creatures could be a touchy subject, but it appeared that the Blast-Ended Skrewt was not such a creature in the minds of their onlookers.

Applause and cheering erupted from the small crowd. It appeared the Skrewts were not among more-favored creatures. Brad, feeling a bit awkward under the direct observation, gave a small wave and instructed his guys to head to the castle and prepare for the Halloween Feast. They left the bodies wherever they fell, deciding that Hagrid could deal with them.

* * *

By evening, the Great Hall was bustling with activity. The Goblet of Fire had been taken from its room and was placed on a pedestal at the top of the stairs leading to the teachers' tables. Students had filed in early for the Feast and finally, Dumbledore saw fit to simply call the Feast to order early.

The few stragglers that came in were not upset to find dinner already underway, though the eating wasn't as enthusiastic as it was last night. Whether that was due to the fact that there was a full-blown feast yesterday or if it was due to the drawing afterward was uncertain. Brad mused that it was probably a combination of the two.

"It was something else, let me tell you," Ron said, stabbing a sausage with his fork and taking a bite. He was one of the few that _was_ enthusiastic about the food, though that was hardly uncommon for him. "A crazy suit and tie...and he tried to tame his hair! I love him dearly, I do, but wow."

"I think its sweet," Hermione said, leaning comfortably against Mike. Brad had given Mike the pass to head out on his date next to the lake today and was happy for them, even if it did leave him a little short on their surprise detail to clear the pumpkin patch earlier.

"Yeah, because he _is sweet!"_ Ron exclaimed. "On Madame Maxine. They walked to the castle together! He was like a puppy."

"So, wait," Jason said with a look of irritation. "That guy stuck us with the Skrewts for a _date?"_

"Bold move," Mike said with a grin, nodding in admiration. "We'll have to see how it pays off." Jason grumbled into his food, patting the spot on his head that now looked mostly like a sunburn, minus some hair.

They made small talk until, finally, Dumbledore stood. All three school heads were present, though the Ministry officials were elsewhere. When the plates cleared, Dumbledore spoke.

"Now that we are all full, I believe it is time to get on to the business of the night." Dumbledore's words were met with full applause from the excited students. Brad heard Hermione telling Mike that she hoped for Angelina Johnson to get picked. Everyone was definitely excited to see who the champions would be.

Dumbledore stepped close to the Goblet of Fire and, shortly after, the fire turned from its brilliant blue to a deep red. A smoking paper rocketed out of the Goblet and floated down gently in front of the headmaster. He plucked it from the sky effortlessly and read it.

"The champion for Durmstrang will be..." He paused for effect and, though the attempt was obvious, it left everyone on the edge of their seats. "Victor Krum!" Applause tore through the ranks of the students as he stood, being congratulated by his Headmaster.

"I knew he'd be picked, of course," Ron said loudly as he clapped. Headmaster Karkaroff lead his pupil through a staff door and out of sight while the clapping continued. It died down quickly into silence as the flame turned a deep red again, spitting forth another name.

"For Hogwarts," he paused again. "Cedric Diggory!" Loud cheering erupted from the Hufflepuff table and the rest of the school clapped for their champion. Hermione shot Angelina an apologetic look as they clapped. McGonagall lead Cedric through the same door. For a third and final time, the Goblet's flames turned red and ejected a name.

"And finally, for Beauxbatons," Dumbledore squinted at the paper closely. "Fleur Delacour!" Brad saw her hop up, beaming at her headmistress who stood with her. She quickly reigned herself in, resuming a more neutral look, and allowed herself to be escorted, through the uncomfortably enthusiastic applause of nearby male students, by Madame Maxine.

Dumbledore clapped along with everyone until the ladies were out of sight and then the applause died down.

"Well, there you have it," he said. "Our champions are selected and they will now be told-" The headmaster was cut off as the flame turned red once more. The immediate silence in the Great Hall was such that Brad could hear the flame launch another smoking parchment. Dumbledore caught it from the air quickly, reading it with his eyebrows furrowed.

"Harry Potter," he muttered as though just speaking to himself. It was so quiet that everyone heard it and their heads turned to him almost in unison. Brad felt it like a hammer blow to the gut. _Someone put his name in. They're gunning for him_ again. "Harry Potter!" He said it more loudly this time and Brad stood up, gripping Harry by the arm.

"Let's go," he said. Harry, stunned into inaction, allowed himself led through the deathly quiet hall and into the chambers where the other champions awaited.

Inside the chambers, the Ministry officials were making small talk with the headmasters while the students congratulated each other. Fleur was the first to notice Brad and Harry, but other heads turned shortly after.

"Did zey need somezing?" she asked. Brad hadn't formed an answer by the time Dumbledore and Moody made it in to the room behind them.

"What happened?" McGonagall, a confidant of Dumbledore for many years, was the first to read the distress in the headmaster's eyes. He paused a moment, eyeing Harry.

"Harry was selected as a _fourth_ champion." He said simply, without emotion, and it took everyone a moment to catch up with the magnitude of his statement.

"What?" Karakoff was the first to speak out. "Outrageous! If Hogwarts is to have two champions than I demand that we-"

"Marvelous," Ludo Bagman muttered, appearing to take delight in the development.

"'E cannot compete, 'e is too young!" Fleur cut in, looking to Harry, her brow furrowed.

"Nonsense," McGonagall said at the same time. "Harry can't compete, he-"

"Enough," Barty Crouch boomed, his curt voice sharp commanding. Everyone looked to him. "If the boy's name was drawn, he must compete. I'm afraid it is as simple as that."

"Bullshit," Brad objected, and he drew several stunned looks. "This is a _blatant_ attempt to put Harry in danger, we can't let that happen."

"I don't think we have a choice," Moody grunted. "Binding contract and all."

"He's right," Barty confirmed. "Once entered, there's no going back." Harry took a seat, looking as though he'd been ordered put to death.

"How'd you get your name in?" Cedric asked, putting a hand gently on Harry's shoulder. There was no malice in the question, just curiosity.

"I didn't," Harry said numbly. He looked up at Brad, and Brad took the hint.

"He didn't," Brad agreed. "I was with him the whole night, he didn't go anywhere near the Goblet."

"'is name was eentered somehow." Madame Maxine squinted suspiciously at Harry.

"If Hogwarts gets two champions, I demand-" Karkaroff began again, but was cut off by Crouch.

"It simply doesn't work that way. The champions have been chosen, and that is the end of it. The flame is out until the next tournament." Crouch looked irritated but Brad decided it was his job to tread onward anyway.

"How _does_ it work?" Brad asked. Crouch looked at him, annoyed, but he answered.

"Once a witch or wizard enters, they're magically bound to compete. If they do not, they will lose their magic." Crouch's answer perked Harry from his thoughts. The idea of living his whole life not knowing he was a wizard, only to have it stolen from him by a competition, it nauseated him.

"How does the contest track who is competing?" Brad asked, probing, searching for some loophole, some way out of it. Harry was a strong wizard and getting better every day, but Brad hadn't liked the boy's chances of surviving a competition of this magnitude, certainly not if someone was gunning for him.

Colonel Sumner and Major Price slipped into the room and came to stand next to Harry. Price gave him a comforting squeeze of the shoulder.

"By wand, I should think," Mr. Crouch answered, stroking his chin in thought. "It is a rather common way of tracking these things. The competing witch or wizard would undoubtedly have a wand with them, it would be the simplest way of keeping track."

"So, I could take Harry's wand and compete for him?" Brad asked, hopeful. He hadn't expected the furious rebukes from just about everyone in the room, however.

"You must be mad!" Moody exclaimed, one voice among many.

"You can' be serious!" Fleur exclaimed. Brad turned to her, but she was looking for Crouch to back her up. "'e isn't even a wizard!" She faced him again. It was tough to read her expression. He couldn't tell if it was concern or contempt. "I mean no offense, but you would stand no chance!"

"Quiet, everyone." Dumbledore admonished the outbursts. Once everyone had quieted, though their agitation was far from absent, Crouch opened his mouth.

"Erm..." He paused, thinking deeper. "Theoretically, but we have no real way to know."

"Sounds like a plan." Brad said firmly, turning to Colonel Sumner. "Colonel, requesting permission to operate in place of Harry for the duration of the tournament."

"He has no authority to grant that!" Karkaroff exclaimed and Moody, surprisingly, nodded in agreement.

"You'd be betting on Harry's magic," he said, his blue eye whirling around as though uncomfortable with the very idea of it. His tongue darted from his mouth and Crouch paused a moment, staring at the Professor for a full second before continuing.

"It's a lengthy process, having one's magic extracted," Crouch said, finally taking his eyes from the Professor. "We could have Harry stand-by, ready to jump in to the task if his magic is threatened."

"I'll call that a solid plan B," Brad said, looking first to Dumbledore for approval, then Colonel Sumner. No one moved.

"Someone's gunning for Harry, _again_ ," Brad said. "He was with me the whole night, he didn't put his name in the Goblet. It's my job to keep him safe, and I can't do that if he's competing in a tournament that he was trapped into. We'd be playing right into their hand."

"And here I thought _you_ were the paranoid one, Moody," Karkaroff sighed.

"Are there any objections to allowing the muggle to take the place of this young man?" Crouch asked, looking at each of them. Moody grumbled about betting Harry's magic and Karkaroff did the same about the unfairness. "Very well, it is settled."

"Captain Gordon," Sumner said with authority, "You're relieved of command for the duration of your current assignment. Staff Sergeant Steele will take over your current duties and your primary focus will be _exclusively_ on getting through this tournament alive." The colonel turned to Dumbledore. "With your permission, sir, I'd like to begin an investigation into who might have put Harry's name into that Goblet."

"Of course," Dumbledore said, nodding in agreement.

"'ow is 'e going to survive this?" Fleur asked. "'e may carry a wand, but 'e cannot use it!"

"A fair point," Dumbledore acknowledged, "However, I think that it might be best if we allow the Captain to bring his regular gear with him to the events. He carries more on him, but then his gear is not as versatile as a wand." There was a grumble but no real objection and, no real option if the operator was to survive. Crouch, not hearing a real objection, made his decision.

"Very well, Mr. Gordon. You may select your equipment and bring it to the wand weighing ceremony where it will be inspected and approved." There were no further points or objections, so it was settled.

Captain Gordon would compete for Harry in the events, hoping that it would be enough to keep the boy safe. Apparently, it had been too much to hope that Harry wouldn't be the target again this year.


	40. Impact of Another Champion

AN - Thank you, everyone, for the reviews! I was really happy to see you all are enjoying where the story is going. I'm having a lot of fun writing it out and I hope you continue to enjoy it.

* * *

Brad and Harry walked in silence for most of the trip back to the Gryffindor common room. Dumbledore, trying to find a silver lining, had indicated that Gryffindor might be throwing a party. It was a prospect that neither of them were excited about.

"Thanks," Harry said as they reached the stairs leading up to the common room. He was torn. On the one hand, he absolutely did not want to compete. He'd be lying if he didn't admit that it stung though, how everyone was so sure he would fail if he tried.

"It's not about your ability, you know?" Brad said, replying to Harry's unspoken concern. They stopped partway up the stairs. "If anyone was going to kill this thing at your age, it's you. But if someone is trying to put you in harm's way, I have a responsibility to make sure they don't succeed."

"Yeah, I know." They stood there for a moment, silent in their own thoughts. "It would be nice to have a year where no one was trying to do something crazy to me."

"No doubt," Brad agreed. A staircase nearby began shifting to a different hall and it sparked their movement once again. It wasn't a good idea to be on the staircase when it shifted.

When they reached the top of the stairs, they could hear the muffled party sounds emanating from behind the Fat Lady. She tried to congratulate Harry, but he wasn't in the mood. After failing to get details from a reluctant Harry, she'd barely started to open when a cheer erupted from inside. The portrait slammed open, the Fat Lady yelping in protest as Harry was grabbed by Fred and George and dragged inside.

"OUR CHAMPION!" Fred hollered, another cheer bursting from the packed common room. Harry tried to wrangle himself out of the center of the room, but celebrating students were making it impossible for the center of attention to escape.

They were pestering Harry from every side. Congratulations, questions about how he'd entered, about how he planned to win...rapid fire questions that bewildered him and kept him off balance.

"Cool it!" Brad hollered and the celebrating paused as heads turned. "He's not competing."

"Nonsense!" George responded with a chuckle. "He's in, his name was picked!"

"I'm competing for him." Brad said. The room was silent for a moment, so Brad continued. "I was with Harry all night, he didn't put his name in. Someone else did it and the only reason to do that would be to get him hurt. I'm not letting that happen."

"That's crazy," Angelina Johnson muttered.

"If you think _Harry_ can't handle it, what makes you any better?" Katie Bell, a chaser for the Gryffindor team, asked.

"I'm a soldier, I'll make it work," he replied coolly.

"How're you getting past the whole magical contract thing?" another person asked.

"We found a possible loophole," Brad said. "I can't say any more than that." Brad saw Harry slipping upstairs while the attention was turned. "I'm sorry to crash your party, guys, but Cedric is the Hogwarts champion. Y'all should be supporting _him_."

Brad headed upstairs. Even though most of the students remained in the common room, the fervor of the party had been killed. In the boy's dormitory, Brad found Ron and Harry arguing.

"I'm just saying, you had plenty of time to tell your best friend!" Ron exclaimed, sitting in his bed. Harry sat heavily on the edge of his own bed.

"I didn't put my name in!" Harry snapped back. _Fuck._ How many times was Brad going to have this conversation?

"He really didn't." Brad said. Both boys jumped slightly, not realizing that they were no longer alone. "He was in here with us the whole time."

"Oh, come on!" Ron rolled his eyes and threw himself back onto his pillow. He immediately propped himself up on an elbow, looking at them both. "Who'd put his name in?"

"Someone who wants to see him hurt," Brad said simply. He crossed to his bed, sitting down and pulling his boots off. "Harry isn't competing either. I'm taking his place."

Ron was quiet for a moment. "Really?"

"Really," Harry said, irritated.

"Well...I mean the evidence-" Ron started, but Harry wasn't in the mood.

"I'd have thought my friend would have some faith in me," Harry said. He rolled onto his side, away from them both.

"Right," Ron said, laying down fully. Brad sighed and put his head on his own pillow. _What a fucking night._

* * *

It was almost two in the morning and Sumner had been working on figuring out who would have put Harry's name into the Goblet. Was it a prank? A boy seeking attention? A threat? If so, from who? And why? There were a lot of questions to answer.

The first question, how, had turned out to be the easiest so far. Sumner had examined the parchment holding Harry's name and school. It showed Harry's name and the school was listed as _Hogwurts_. It was a subtle change, the u looking like a sloppy a.

When he'd brought the theory up, Moody scoffed in appreciation.

"It'd take an exceptional confundus charm to bewitch that Goblet," he pointed out. Apparently, the Goblet had been tricked into believing there were four schools competing, with the fourth being almost identical in spelling to Hogwarts.

That had been the easy part. He'd spent the rest of the evening looking at student and staff records for suspects. Harry had an antagonistic relationship with Draco Malfoy but he couldn't enter himself, let alone someone else. Not helpful.

The only major theory was that Karkaroff was responsible. It was said that the man was a former Death Eater, much like Snape. The problem was that neither Snape or Karkaroff were seen by the security elements stationed at the Goblet. Neither was Harry, of course. They had no idea who did it.

There was a knock at the door and Sumner told them to enter. As he'd suspected, it was Sgt. Sara Freeman. She snapped to attention, alert. She'd been woken up to meet him and, to her credit, she didn't show any sign of fatigue.

"Sergeant Freeman, reporting!" She stared ahead at an imaginary point above the colonel for a moment before Sumner remembered to tell her to relax.

"At ease, sergeant," he said, gesturing to a chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat." She hesitated for a moment, but sat. It wasn't often you were summoned in the middle of the night to a colonel's office, and it was _never_ a good thing. They sat in silence for a moment.

"You're being transferred, effective immediately." He said. Sara felt her heart the hell did she do wrong?

"I see," Sara said numbly. She tried to think back on who she could have pissed off but drew a blank. Sumner sighed, pinching his brow.

"You'll have to excuse me," he said, still pinching his brow. He paused a moment, rubbing his eyes, then looked at her. "It's been a long night. You're not being transferred out of this task force, sergeant. Reaper team is down an operator. I can't leave them under-strength and I can't pull someone from another team, they've already got their hands full. You've had good reports from your officers and your range records speak well for you."

Sara's head was swirling. Placed on an operator team? That was nuts. She was a good shot, one of the best in her squad. She'd always kept a level head in engagements and pulled her weight. But on an _operator_ team? That was going to be a tall order.

"You've been temporarily assigned to Reaper team for the duration of the tournament. Grab your things and report to Gryffindor tower, to Staff Sergeant Steele. Dismissed."

"Yes, sir!" she said, more enthusiastically than she'd meant to. It was nerve-wracking and exciting all at once. She stood, saluted, and exited the office off to fulfill her orders.

Sumner smiled wryly. It was always good to see someone so full of energy, and by all accounts Sara would make a fine operator.

* * *

The following morning, most of the Gryffindor students were a little chilly toward Brad. He understood it and tried to be patient, but found that it was irritating. They were excited at the idea of a Gryffindor champion and he couldn't fault them for it. Still, it would be nice if they looked past the superficial feeling of having a Gryffindor champion, toward the fact that Harry would be _way_ out of his league.

Shit, _Brad_ was way out of his league. He had absolutely no idea what to expect. His first order of business this morning was to get breakfast and then head to the library. He didn't mention it to Hermione, though he was sure she'd have been thrilled to help. It didn't warrant disrupting her studies.

He was picking his way through bookshelves and looking for something helpful. Several volumes of _A History of Magic_ were set at eye level. He held out hope for something a little more specific. Eventually he ran across _Competitive Events Between Man, Magic and More_. That was perfect.

Brad sat down, his squeaking chair earning him a scowl from the librarian. He ignored it and looked for his prize, details on the past Triwizard Tournaments. The details were grim.

Close to fifty percent of Triwizard Champions, ranging in age from 14-18, were killed or seriously maimed during the years that it ran. It had finally been canceled after the last tournament had seen all three champions killed in the first event. The Ministry had, for whatever reason, decided that now was the time to revive the competition.

As he made it into the details things only got worse. Dragons, zombies, obstacle courses, duels. There had been such a wide variety of events that he really didn't feel that he could narrow things down to a prediction. He just knew that whatever they had him do, it was gonna be a bitch.

Feeling a little more nervous than he cared to admit, he put the book back on the shelf and headed to the Armory to start coming up with a kit that would be versatile enough to meet his needs.

* * *

Staff Sergeant Jason Steele rubbed his chin thoughtfully. This was some crazy shit, for sure. He'd never seriously considered having to take charge of Reaper team. Gordon was a badass and Jason never thought about him buying a farm, so to speak.

Granted, Brad wasn't dead, he was reassigned. But damn, the effect was the same. Jason was in command now and he had a newbie on the team. _What would Brad do?_ Well, train her up, he supposed.

Thankfully, in a clearing south of the lake, they'd set up a small shooting range with the help of Professor Flitwick. It was an outdoor range that had sound barrier charms to prevent the noise from disrupting the school and the Professor regularly repaired any damage to the area to keep it reset. He'd even gone so far as to enchant some of the targets, causing them to try and dodge shots. It made for good practice, and all it cost was a steady supply of 'those hilarious muggle books about us.'

"Well, Phantom is tasked with taking care of our friends here," Jason said, gesturing toward Harry, Ron and Hermione, who were sitting down at the table and eating their lunches. "I have a week to get your ass in gear."

"Understood," Sara replied, still standing stiff. Jason frowned.

"Relax a bit," he sighed. "We're not so formal around here. Let's get out to the range and get familiar with each other."

Jason said his goodbyes to the trio, who were sad to see him go. Reaper team would be busy for the next week or so, getting their new operator up to speed. Small teams like Reaper were incredibly effective, in part, because they trained and worked so closely together. It wasn't easy breaking someone new in and it always threw a bit of a wrench into an otherwise flawless gear. The only way past was through it, though.

Sgt. Freeman was one of the soldiers that had actually engaged Sirius Black last year. If accounts were correct, she'd even shot him in the ass. Already a plus one in Jason's book. Still, there were differences in their brand of warfare that line troops were just not trained in. He only had a week to get her up to speed and that was a tall order, but Jason was confident they could have her pulling her weight by then. It was just going to require a _lot_ of ammo and repetitive exercises. Everything from how the operator laid out their kit, to their shooting styles and preferences, to the size of their steps, mattered.

Until that week was up, Phantom team would be taking on temporary stewardship of the trio. They were more than capable. Jason knew Lt. Knight, he was a solid operator and ran his team well and the students would be safe.

They'd been put in protection mode again, though. There was what was considered an active threat against Harry right now. Until that threat was neutralized, the teams would remain on high alert.

* * *

Harry took another bite of his lunch. The Great Hall was packed with students, both from his school and the two others. He was still getting aggressive looks from the Hufflepuff table, even though he wasn't competing and that was common knowledge.

It was infuriating. He was already one of the most famous wizards in England, what the hell would he do _more_ fame. That, in and of itself, was insanity. Ever since he'd been told he was a wizard, he'd had more fame than he knew what to do with. Money? Not a problem for him. The investments his parents had made before their demise, and the donations across wizard-kind that were placed in his account shortly after their deaths...that was more money than he really knew how to spend.

Why would anyone think he _wanted_ to be in the tournament? And even still, he _wasn't_. Brad was taking his place, competing for him…so long as their loophole worked. Regardless, the intent was there and everyone knew it.

But instead of understanding that this wasn't under his control, people seemed to spin wild theories. What they thought he was gaining for it, he was clueless. He'd never felt _less_ popular, and he'd been suspected of siccing a Basilisk on students in his second year, so that was saying something.

"Doing alright, boy?" a gruff, distinct voice asked from behind Harry, knocking him out of his thoughts. He looked back to see Professor Moody.

"Yeah, I'm alright," Harry answered. He doubted that the professor believed him though, as he beckoned for Harry to take a walk with him. Harry wasn't particularly interested in his lunch so he obliged without protest.

"You're not alright, Harry," Moody said as they entered the Entrance Hall. When they turned toward the stairs, Harry wondered if they were heading to his classroom. "You were forced into the tournament by someone that wants you hurt, and that's a problem."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. He didn't particularly like thinking about it, but he supposed that there was no point in sticking his head in the sand. Someone wanted him hurt and he suspected that it might involve Voldemort.

"Now," Moody said, limping up the stairs with Harry. "That Captain is doing you a favor, risking his neck in the tournament."

"He's a good guy," Harry replied. He'd appreciated it, that Brad just jumped in and did what he thought was right. Still, it was a little irritating, the lack of faith people seemed to have. When it came down to it, he didn't want to compete. It would have been nice if people had a little faith in him, though.

"A great one, I'm sure." Moody said it bluntly, almost aggressively. Harry chalked it up to his permanent paranoid state. They reached the top of the stairs and Moody stopped walking, turning to face Harry. "I'll not mince words with you, I've heard you're something to behold in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Well, I-" Harry started but Moody, impatiently darting his tongue out of his mouth, cut him off.

"Well, nothing." He turned, looking both ways before continuing. "You're good, I'm sure, but I doubt if you're good _enough._ I want you to take extra lessons with me, once a week. We need to get you to the point where you can hold your own against any of Voldemort's men."

"Right," Harry said. It surprised him that the former Auror had used Voldemort's name, but he supposed that if anyone was going to do it, Moody fit the bill. Not a man easily scared by something so simple as a name.

"Excellent." Moody clapped Harry's shoulder roughly. "First lesson will be Saturday evening. There are no courses on the weekend, so I know you have it free." Without waiting for a response, the professor began limping away. Harry stood there, dumbfounded for a minute, then headed back downstairs.

It was shaping up to be a busy year. Between exercise and sparring sessions with Brad, his classes, and the possibility of having to actually compete in the tournament, he was a little worried about having to do even more.

Still, the more he knew about fighting, the better. If Dumbledore was right and Voldemort was trying to come back, it would spell a fight that would eventually find its way to Harry. The better prepared he was, the better chance he stood of surviving.

The bell for his next class began and he stood a moment before remembering what it meant. Double Potions. He hung his head down in grief as he headed downstairs.

* * *

Brad found that picking his kit for the Triwizard Tournament was a little tougher than he'd imagined it to be. He'd spent the better part of the day trying to figure out what he should bring with him, and what should be left behind.

He thought it doubtful that he'd need to do anything by way of long-term survival. Extra socks and underwear that he normally packed, along with his sleeping bag and other such equipment, he abandoned. That would be dead weight that he really didn't need.

It was a pain coming up with the other stuff though. He usually had more information to go on. Would he be needing a larger cartridge or smaller in his weapon. Would he need ordinance or not? Would he fight small things, big things? Anything? He really wasn't sure. It wouldn't do well to dwell on it though. Make a decision and commit to it, that was better than inaction 100% of the time.

Fond of the multi-cam uniform, he opted to keep it. It seemed to do a fairly good job blending anywhere and that was how he wanted it. It was also easy to decide that he wanted to keep the HK416. It was his favored weapon for any deployment, a reliable M4 platform developed by H&K. He'd decided that the integrated suppressor barrel of a mid-length was best.

A long barrel made the weapon longer and harder to wield in close quarters, even if it did make shooting at longer ranges more accurate. Too short a barrel and you'd have a more challenging time at mid to long range combat.

He'd keep using the majority of his accessories, as well. It was good to use something you're familiar with. The ACOG sight he was used to stayed. The three-point sling that kept his weapon available if he had to let go, kept. Tactical light and laser sight, keepers.

It was more challenging to decide on the under-barrel. He could sling an M203 grenade launcher to the bottom of his rifle and have the flexibility to throw ordinance at longer ranges. If he did that though, it added three pounds to his rifle, plus the space on his plate carrier that he'd need to carry grenades in.

Ultimately, he'd decided that the likelihood of fighting something that even required the extra weight of a grenade launcher was too slim to be worth the weight. An angled foregrip was better. It made the rifle more comfortable to hold and manipulate and he'd noticed an improvement in accuracy when he used them.

His SOLDA device was a no-brainer. He'd gotten used to carrying it. It gave him up to date satellite imaging of any terrain in the world, immediate access to the Special Operations Command and TFA databases, and the ability to utilize tech like UAVs and the OCDS system.

The OCDS system was the wildcard that, if he was going to be allowed the use of, could turn the tide for him. The Orbital Cargo Delivery System was an extremely expensive program, a space-based automated cargo delivery station that could drop weapons, ammunition, survival gear, and even a few light vehicles, to any location in the world.

It was something that JSOC invested a lot of money in, allowing their operators to take to the field with less contingency equipment. The teams went into battle with the best intelligence of any nation in the world, and that was sometimes next to nothing. It was hard to prepare for everything and it was almost a routine problem that men went into battle without the optimal equipment.

The OCDS changed that for the special operations teams of JSOC. If a team went down in a crash, they could request survival gear. On board the satellite, an automated arm pulled the requested equipment and loaded it into atmospheric reentry pods, dropping them to the requested GPS coordinate. If a team needed an ATV or a single person submersible, they could have one at their location within twenty minutes.

It was still an experimental system. There were bugs with trajectory placement and sometimes the ordered equipment came with bonus gear, or no gear. But no system was perfect when it first came out.

Brad started loading his plate carrier with magazines for his HK416 and the Sig P226 handgun he'd carried as a sidearm since starting training. Six, red striped polymer 30 round magazines of XSS112, the Army designation of rubber 5.56 caliber ammunition enchanted with the _Stupefy_ spell. They were his primary munition, as his goal was not to kill anyone during the event. He'd stun the hell out of them though.

Another two magazines with gray stripes. These were magazines that were intermixed with XSS116 and XSS117 rounds, enchanted with _Expelliarmus_ and _Incarcerous_ respectively. The idea was that the first shot would disarm the opponent and the second would bind them in ropes from the shoulder to their ankles. Really handy for disabling an opponent.

Finally, he had two plain, unmarked magazines. These, he would prefer _not_ to use, as they were each holding SS111 standard metal rounds. _These_ were designed to kill. He hoped not to have to use them. Still, the saying was to walk softly and carry a big stick, and it was better to have it and not need it.

Sighing, Brad continued creating his kit. He still needed to decide on grenades, weapon alternatives, if he should after all carry food and/or water with him, so on. Decisions, decisions.

* * *

"What do you think, Potter?" Malfoy sneered. He, along with his two goons, cornered Harry, Ron, and Hermione outside of the Potions chambers. He was pointing at a button on his chest and, for an absurd moment, Harry thought it was a S.P.E.W. button.

"Great," Harry said sarcastically. _Brad the Mad_ it said, and after a moment it swirled into an image of a small figure in poorly animated fatigues getting crushed by a giant wand.

"That's not a threat, is it?" Hermione asked, scowling at Malfoy. The boy smiled crookedly for a moment, glancing back at his thick-headed friends.

"It's whatever you make of it," he replied evenly. "And, you should really know better than to be talking to me, Granger. I don't consort with mud-"

"Enough!" Harry snapped loudly. Malfoy wore a brief look of surprise and Harry could feel his heart thumping in his neck, hear the blood coursing through vessels in his ears. There was a brief moment, where nothing happened. Then, both boys simultaneously drew their wands, casting spells at the same time.

Their aim was true, such that both spells hit in mid-air and changed course. Goyle was hit in the face by a hex that caused painful welts and boils to begin sprouting up. As he began panicking and Harry tried to decide what spell to cast next, he heard Hermione's panicked whimper and looked to her.

She was holding her hands to her face, her eyes wide in terror. She tried hard to hide what was happening, but was ultimately unsuccessful as her teeth began to grow too big for her mouth. Harry fumed and was preparing to hex Malfoy until he bled, which was when Snape opted to show up.

"What is going on?" he asked, looking between the two. Malfoy, who'd turned to look at his friend, stood up and pointed a finger at Harry.

"He went crazy and tried to hex us!" Malfoy said, making a mockery of victimhood. Still, Snape appeared to believe it.

"They did too!" Ron blurted out. He grabbed Hermione's wrist as she struggled to cover her face, tearing the hand away from it. "See!?"

"I see no difference," Snape said coldly. Hermione, her jaw already aching from the awkward angle that her teeth were forcing, tried to respond. What came from her mouth was an unintelligible sound that quickly turned to a sob. She covered her mouth with her hands again and darted past the professor, off to the infirmary ward.

Several students tried to stop her on her way, concerned about her panicked whimpers. When she pushed past PFC Jacobs, who was stationed outside the infirmary, the private alerted Mike. It was well known that the two were an item and he knew Mike would want to know.

Mike was at her side within minutes, rubbing her back as Madam Pomfrey, who'd successfully stopped them from growing, worked on a potion that would return her teeth to a normal size.

* * *

"Send them in," Minister Fudge waved his hand in an irritated fashion. He'd been breaking in a new secretary ever since the last one started getting ideas that she could ask for favors. He was one of the most powerful men in the magical world and didn't have time to go scheduling a replacement secretary every time a family member fell ill. It was infuriating.

Of course, after removing her, he'd needed to replace her entirely. A headache inducing process that had been unforeseen when he'd first seen her. He really needed to stop choosing people for integral positions based on their legs.

The familiar tap of a cane warned him of his company before they'd made it through the door. Martha, his new secretary, held the door for Lucius Malfoy and the mysterious guest that he'd been so interested in introducing.

Truth be told, Fudge never held the Malfoy family in much regard. They were rather apt in the dark arts and that left him uneasy, as did the suspected allegiance to You-Know-Who back during that whole ordeal.

Still, the family was exceptionally wealthy and quite adept at wielding that wealth for influence. You had to admire that. He didn't have to like the Malfoy's to take their money and deal with them. That was, after all, the bread and butter of politics.

"Minister," Lucius greeted warmly, taking a seat. His friend, for lack of a better term, was tall and dressed in an expensive looking business suit. He peered through thinly rimmed glasses at the various plaques and trophies in the Minister's office, twirling a stubby wand between his fingers. After taking a few slow steps around to the front of his chair, he sat.

"Martha," the minister sighed, exasperated. If he'd told her once, he'd told her a million times...don't stand in the damned door. She jumped, immediately realizing her error, and closed the door loudly in her haste to exit. Fudge closed his eyes for a moment, willing himself to relax.

"So tough to find good help these days," the man said in a southern American drawl.

"I'm afraid you have no idea," Fudge sighed. "I'm sorry, you are?" Fudge extended his hand. The man shook firmly with a crooked smile.

"Howard Eden, at your service." He sat back comfortably and Fudge eyed him.

"And why might you be at my service?" he asked. Lucius seemed content to let this play out. Eden didn't miss a beat. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I'm a man without a home, ejected from everything I know and love by Task Force Ansible." At the mention of TFA, he had Fudge's undivided attention. "They come in where they're unwelcome and wreck everything. I hear they're doing the same to you, to Hogwarts, and I thought that you and I might just have something in common."

"What did I say?" Lucius asked Fudge, who was nodding in agreement with Howard.

"I daresay you were correct, Mr. Malfoy." Fudge said, eager to learn more about the man.


	41. Weighing the Wands

I wanted to thank everyone again for the reviews! It really does a writer's heart well to know people are enjoying the story. I'm really excited for the things to come in this story. I hope you all enjoy.

* * *

The following week was a little easier, if only marginally. Hermione spent several nights in the care of Madame Pomfrey, who had the task of not just resizing Hermione's teeth, but repairing muscle and joint damage to the jaw. Previous dental work by her parents had unintended side effects when it came to a curse that was mostly used as a prank, and her teeth actually grew within her mouth.

Harry and Ron visited her, as did Brad and the rest of Reaper team. Mike only left her side to assist with training the team's newbie, and it was obvious he hated every moment of being away. He was cordial with everyone, but Harry could tell by the permanent burning look in his eye that he was ready to tear something apart.

Hermione remained blissfully unconscious for most of the repair work. Harry knew all about restructuring bone via magic and it was not a fun process. Professor Lockhart, the buffoon that he was, had tried to mend a broken bone in Harry's arm and instead removed the bone structure completely. The process of regrowing his arm had been excruciating.

On a more positive note, the Gryffindor students had finally resigned to the idea that they had a Hufflepuff champion. They weren't going to be the top cheerleaders, but they weren't struggling with the surprise addition and almost immediate removal of an additional champion from Gryffindor.

The same wasn't to be said for some of the other students, especially Slytherin. They were almost always caught wearing badges that depicted an olive drab figure being defeated, sometimes in gruesome ways. The figures were, of course, not detailed enough to be an actual threat. But attitude was in tremendous supply among them.

"Now, remember, this is particularly handy in duels." Professor Flitwick gave Harry a light elbow to the back, knocking him back into the moment. He'd been thinking about how Hermione was due to be released from the hospital ward today. He didn't have anything special planned, but it would be good to see her again. "Being able to blast your opponent back and get some distance, yes..." The professor smiled wryly, some memory of a duel occupying his mind for a moment. "...Handy, indeed. And, it's a fine spell for blasting spiders from hard to reach areas."

"That's a _horrible_ idea!" Ron exclaimed in a whisper. He'd always been terrified of spiders and meeting a nest of Acromantula in their second year hadn't helped that in the slightest. "The only thing worse than a spider is a _flying_ spider."

"Let's practice." The professor stood up on his pedestal, allowing the whole class to see his short form. He waved his wand, " _Depulso!"_ A small stack of books with hilariously inaccurate depictions of dragons and other creatures launched off the table in front of him, scattering around the floor.

Before anyone else could get an attempt in, however, the bell sounded that told them class was over. Flitwick frowned, having again lost track of time. Some of the students were adept at getting him off subject for some length of time, usually about dueling or something similarly interesting.

The students filed out of the classroom. Harry was planning to head up to the infirmary to see Hermione. It was the last class of the day and he figured he'd visit her one more time before she was released. He was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder and a familiar voice. "Harry." Harry turned to look and couldn't help the smile that formed.

"SIRIUS!" His godfather wrapped him in a hug and smiled back broadly, holding both of Harry's shoulders after, as though to inspect him for damage.

"How are you doing?" Sirius asked. Harry shrugged, not really sure how to respond.

"I hear someone's trying to kill me again," he said. "So, I've got that going for me."

"Fat chance of that," Sirius said, gesturing to a passing patrol of four soldiers. "These guys are good at their jobs, I should know." He subconsciously rubbed the spot where he'd received a rubber bullet last year. "And I hear you're getting extra lessons with Moody, too."

"He's something," Harry replied. He'd only done one of the lessons so far, but it had been intense. The professor didn't pull any punches and he really knew what he was doing. There was none of the bowing or respectful distances or any of that.

Moody was a lot like Brad in that respect. In fact, they had both told him something early on, that if he found himself in a fair fight he hadn't prepared properly.

"It's about survival, plain and simple," Moody had told him. "Nothing else is gonna matter if you're dead, boy." That was before Moody hit him with a stunning hex. Harry hadn't been prepared to defend himself and Moody went on a tirade about _Constant Vigilance!_

"Well, he's been around the block a time or two," Sirius told Harry, looking around at the halls. They were strolling slowly. "It's really good to be back here, free, you know?"

Harry did know. Sirius had spent a long time in Azkaban and when he'd escaped, he could only go through these halls a hunted man. It had been a roller coaster of emotions when Harry had learned about the innocence of Sirius, just to have him arrested immediately after.

The simultaneous arrest of Peter Pettigrew had been what blew the official Ministry story out of the water, allowing for Sirius' exoneration. Harry hadn't witnessed it, but he'd learned that Pettigrew had received the Dementor's Kiss, his husk stowed away in Azkaban.

They walked through a number of halls, Sirius recounting tales of his father and himself. It was a great way to spend an evening.

* * *

Brad sat on the side of his bed, staring at his plate carrier. He was trying to decide if there were any necessary last-minute changes to make to his kit. It was hard to determine what he was going to need.

He spent a fair number of hours in the library, researching past Triwizard Tournaments for clues on what to expect. Over the course of reading four different books on the subject, he'd narrowed it down to dueling with other champions, dragons, gnomes, boggarts, serpents, gorgons, hydras, a sphinx, various magical puzzles, chimeras, merpeople, and a page and a half of other possible events.

How would he even fight a gorgon? He couldn't look at it without turning to stone, or so he'd read. There were various magical enchantments that could help a witch or wizard survive that encounter, but he had no such luck. So far, his plan was to just throw hand grenades.

He didn't think they'd use a hydra again. The last book he read came from the restricted section and actually had details of the last Triwizard Tournament. The hydra used for the first event killed all three champions and then a sizable number of Ministry handlers when it escaped.

Not for the first time, he decided to stick with his original kit. He'd added a grenade launcher, then decided to remove it. He'd looked at sticking an MK II Patronus pack in his bag, but he figured the chances of going toe to toe with a dementor would be slim. Dumbledore didn't approve of them being anywhere near the school and he doubted an event like this would change his opinion on that matter.

"Excuse me, Captain?" a nervous voice asked. It was one of the first year Gryffindor kids. He'd spent a fair amount of time trying to hang out with Harry. "They want you to go upstairs with your stuff, for the ceremony."

 _Go time_. Brad picked up his plate carrier and put it on, slinging his rifle and carrying the rest of his kit. He followed the boy upstairs until they reached a large classroom that had been emptied of teaching materials.

Fleur, ever aware of her surroundings, was the first to see him. She didn't react or greet him. Simply turned back to her headmistress and continued talking. She'd been pretty much ignoring him since he'd volunteered to take Harry's place in the tournament.

He wasn't sure what was going on, but he tried his best to ignore it. She had originally been, if not friendly, at least cordial. He wasn't sure how he had offended her, but she'd been pointedly ignoring him since, not that he'd been going out of his way to talk to her. His greetings went unreturned and he'd quickly stopped trying.

Looking around the room, he saw that he was the last to arrive. Krum and Cedric were conversing quietly with Harry while a reporter with ridiculous looking glasses tried to get the attention of her cameraman. Brad didn't like the way he was looking at Fleur. It was almost _hungry._

Brad, not one for subtlety, set his gear in by the door and stepped behind the cameraman.

"Anyone tell you staring can be hazardous to your health?" Brad asked. He man jumped and looked back at Brad with an indignant, irritated look.

"Who you thi-" He cut himself off, realizing who he was dealing with. He stammered a moment, trying to come up with some response to save face. His reporter stepped in, smiling in a way that made him immediately uneasy. She was a predator.

"Captain Gordon," she greeted him, extending a hand. He looked at it, then back to her, and didn't shake. He _hated_ reporters. "I'm Rita Skeeter, from the Daily Prophet. So, _you're_ the legend." She looked him up and down. "How about an exclusive," she gripped his upper arm firmly and lead him to a corner of the room. Brad had to fight his instinct, which was to twist away from her grip and fight back. _Fucking reporters._

Her notepad and quill hovering next to her head, she stared at him. Almost _through_ him. "So, what made you decide that you should take over for Mr. Potter?" Brad chewed his lip for a moment.

"No comment," he said, simply. She frowned, and Brad noticed that the quill was still writing furiously. He was certain he saw the word "emotional" before she gripped his chin and turned his face back to her. Her hand shot back to back to her chest, fearing from the look on his face that he was planning to bite her fingers off. She looked down, as though to confirm that all of her fingers made it back in one piece.

She sat there a moment. "You're not a friendly one, are you?" She tried smiling at him, but Brad saw through it.

"Nope," Brad replied. The quill was still writing and Brad glanced at it again. _He looked on the verge of tears as he told me of the parents he never knew._ He looked back to her acidly. "I hurt people for a living," he said. "Think about that before you try and print this trash." He stood without another word and left.

Soon, Dumbledore escorted both of the Ministry officials, along with an older man, into the room. They all were conversing quietly as they entered. Rita, apparently unfazed by their conversation, interjected herself to the headmaster's conversation.

"Dumbledore, so _wonderful_ to see you again," Rita greeted him loudly. Dumbledore looked up, equally unfazed.

"Good to see you too, Rita," he said pleasantly.

"No hard feelings about-" she began, but was cut off by Dumbledore, who remained as pleasant as before.

"I'm certain you have a marvelous reason for your factless sensational methods, dear." He turned to the champions, leaving the red-faced reporter behind. "Thank you all for being here," he said, looking at each of them in turn.

"Our reasons for meeting here are threefold," Mr. Crouch said, stepping forward. "We will perform the Weighing of the Wand Ceremony as well as giving you the small bit of information you may receive before the first task. And...we will be doing our photos for the Daily Prophet." He added the last part warily. It made Brad feel a little better, it seemed that Rita Skeeter was universally unloved.

"Oh, don't make it sound so dull, Barty," Rita interjected, smiling. Brad didn't think anyone bought the nice girl act, however.

"This here is Mr. Ollivander, some of you may recognize him." Crouch beckoned the older man forward. He was an average height and build with silver eyes. He smiled at Cedric and then Harry. "He is our esteemed expert in wandcraft and wandlore."

"Thank you," Ollivander said kindly, stepping forward. "Let's start with Miss Delacour." Brad watched as she hopped up gracefully and presented her wand. Ollivander, to his credit, was more interested in her wand that he was of her. He inspected it up and down. "Ah, nine and a half inches, Rosewood. A Veela-hair core?" he asked politely, but it was obvious that he was confident in his answer.

"My grandmothers," Fleur replied with a note of pride, and no accent whatsoever. Brad remembered her mentioning that her accent crept in when she was emotional and missed talking to her. He sighed, trying to push the thought from his mind.

"Splendid. I don't use Veela hair much, a little temperamental, you know?" He waved the wand wordlessly and several vibrantly colored butterflies launched from the wand, all fluttering out the nearest window. "It works wonderfully." He handed the wand back to Fleur, who glided back to her seat.

"Cedric, if you would." Cedric got up and handed his wand off to the wandmaker. Ollivander inspected this one just as thoroughly. "Twelve and a half inches, ash, with a unicorn hair. I remember that one…they don't give up hair easily, unicorns. In marvelous condition," he commented.

"I polished it just last night," Cedric said, turning and winking at Harry, who looked concerned about a possible double meaning. Ollivander waved the wand, producing a bouquet of flowers and then retracting it. He handed the wand back and Cedric resumed his seat next to Harry, who was busy trying to rub fingerprints off his own wand.

Ollivander inspected both Harry's and Krum's wands and both were in satisfactory condition. Afterward, he thanked them all and left, having no further reason or desire to stay.

"Now that we've completed that step, let's get to the hints!" Bagman exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. He was obviously more excited than anyone. Still, the four champions and the operator leaned forward with interest. Brad would need every ounce of help he could get to prepare for whatever challenge awaited, _if_ the tournament would let him compete for Harry. He sincerely hoped it did.

"The first task will test your bravery and daring. As such, I cannot reveal to you any details. However, know that it will require every ounce of courage and cunning you possess." Seemingly satisfied with his hint, Bagman turned to Rita. "Pictures?"

 _The fuck was that?_ There was nothing to go off of there, that could mean _anything._ Brad sighed and resigned himself to simply staying as prepared as he could manage in order to handle whatever surprise was sent his way.

The cameraman, seeming to value his personal safety, kept his eyes on the group as a whole and not just the attractive female champion. Rita had to take charge of positioning everyone to get the pictures just right.

Evidently, Harry and Brad were both extremely interesting additions to this Triwizard Tournament and _simply had_ to be in the front row. Brad was sandwiched between Harry and Fleur, who also apparently needed to be up front. Brad did his level best to remain focused as he inhaled her vanilla/cinnamon scent.

She pressed close to him at one point, at the direction of Rita, and he could have sworn she could hear his heartbeat, it was so loud. Still, he distracted himself by reciting the lyrics to a running cadence through his head and didn't show any outward sign of his heartfelt distress.

Still, through his embarrassingly juvenile hormones, he found himself painfully aware that she was ignoring him just as completely as before. _I've really pissed her off, somehow._ Try as he might, he couldn't figure out a reason.

The pictures were done quickly and the rest of the champions left, Brad being asked to remain behind by the judges of the tournament. Colonel Sumner and the FOB Phoenix quartermaster, Staff Sergeant Raines, showed up shortly after the champions left.

Over the next hour and a half, the kit Brad had set up was looked through and explained. The Ministry officials and leaders of schools were unfamiliar with the tools and weapons of war that Brad carried.

It surprised Brad that his entire kit was approved. There had been some questioning from Colonel Sumner about the addition of fragmentation grenades and the pair of magazines for his rifle that contained live ammunition.

He was, however, a little concerned when Barty Crouch Sr told the colonel that such munitions weren't likely to cause much damage. Regardless, he was permitted his entire kit. Now he just had to hope it was enough.

* * *

Malfoy was walking to the Slytherin dungeon by himself. Crabbe was with Goyle in the infirmary, being treated for the boils and welts that had sprouted everywhere. He'd visited once, but that had been enough. Those boils were hideous.

He looked forward to getting Harry for that one. It'd been luck that saved Harry. Snape's intervention had been unexpected, but it'd been worth watching Gryffindor lose fifty points and then detention for Harry and Ron to boot. Even better, watching that mudblood get hit with his spell, that was priceless.

Malfoy yelped in surprise as his arm was wrenched above his head and he was pushed bodily into the stone wall, smacking his head. He saw stars for a moment before, _thump_ , a white-hot pain erupted in his flank. He yanked at his arm, trying to get it down, to defend his open side. _Thump,_ another hit in the same spot made him weak in the knees and he cried out in pain. He felt hot breath on his neck.

"Listen, you stupid asshole, you picked the wrong girl to fuck with," a gruff voice said. He recognized it. Mike, the boyfriend. He wanted to be offended that the lowlife muggle would have the gall to try something like this, but the only thought that his mind would circulate was fear for his own safety. He jerked his arm back and bucked his hips, trying to fight the operator off, but the only thing that earned him was another hit to the kidneys that burned away the remainder of his desire to fight back.

"I can do this all day," Mike whispered into Malfoy's ear. Malfoy remained still and didn't speak. "You listen close...if you lay another finger on her I swear to whatever god you pray to, I will string your body up some place no one will find it. You got me?" When Malfoy nodded his head in agreement, he felt another _thump_ and this time, he was allowed to slide down the wall and curl up in a ball.

Mike leaned in over him with parting words. "And if I ever hear you say the word 'mudblood' again, I'll rip your damn tongue out of your mouth."

With that, the operator disappeared into the shadows, leaving Malfoy to recover on his own.


	42. A Trip to Hogsmeade

OUR CHAMPIONS, pg 3  
Rita Skeeter

Now, for our final champion, and the one I just _know_ you're all dying to learn about. Captain Bradley Gordon is the self-described hero of the Triwizard Tournament.

"He'd have died, you know. In this small way, I can pay that young man back for saving everyone from You-Know-Who. If I die in his place, it'll be a hero's death."

Quite a quote from this strapping man of war. But war isn't the only thing on his mind. According to students that are familiar with him, he is often seen hanging around one Hermione Granger, a muggle-born that fellow students describe as "about as pretty as a centaur's hindquarters."

Her beauty notwithstanding, it appears that the girl is quite popular, as she is reportedly seen not just with Harry's Hero, but with Harry Potter _himself._ A love triangle? Maybe.

One thing is for sure, though. The events of this tournament will be incredible, and you can count on your beloved reporter to bring you exclusive news at the greatest speed.

* * *

Saturday morning, at 0430, Brad reported to FOB Phoenix for a security briefing. It was weird, seeing Jason sitting next to Lt Knight of Phantom team. It was where he usually sat during briefings, but now he wasn't in command of Reaper any more. Not for the duration of the tournament, anyhow.

Jason looked uncomfortable still. He'd talked to Brad the night before, saying he missed Brad being in charge. By all accounts, Jason was the right man for the job. He'd done an admirable job at getting Sgt Freeman up to speed and was handling all of the command decisions exactly as he should. He just didn't enjoy it.

He'd been pleased with the performance of Sara as well. There were no available operators to pull from, so they had to pull someone from the regular ranks to fill in for him and keep the team up to strength. She'd done well in the various drills and exercises last year and had handled herself well in her encounter with Sirius Black.

Now that she was training with Jason and the team, he'd learned that she was also a very quick learner. She was a natural shooter and when it came to room clearing and other such exercises, she managed to fit right in. She was confident in herself and her abilities, and that frame of mind was important in an operator.

It didn't leave Brad missing his team any less, though. He was spending a pretty fair amount of time at the range lately, having nothing else to do. His kit had been approved, so he spent countless hours familiarizing himself with where every piece of equipment was and how it operated. Most of this gear was configured as it normally was.

His magazines were set in their pouches, stunner rounds were the easiest to access, lethal rounds took a little more effort. He'd opted to use stunner rounds to start things off. It was an incredibly dangerous tournament, but a tournament nonetheless. Lethal munitions would be a last resort. He put his grenades in their usual pouches and his combat knife on the left side of his chest for easy access if things got close.

Still, he wanted to be as fluid as possible in his movements. He drilled on changing magazines, fire and movement, solo room clearing techniques, accessing various kits and equipment, and even just keeping himself familiar on the screen layouts on his SOLDA device. When seconds mattered, he wanted to be reacting and not fumbling.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," Sumner greeted everyone as he walked into the room, holding a small folder. The room quieted down immediately and Sumner began. "I want to start this briefing with a word of good news. We've been approached by several shop owners around Hogsmeade who have expressed their thanks to TFA for providing security and business to their shops. They've never had much crime, but they've had zero break-ins since we took over and, since we are spending our R&R down there, they're enjoying a bit more profit too. Way to win hearts and minds, people."

"Yeah!" someone called out as everyone clapped.

"Now, the first event of the Tournament is this week. We are rotating platoons effective tomorrow at 0700. 3rd platoon, I want you to keep rotating two squads to the paddock in the Forbidden Forest. Teams found Karakoff, Madame Maxine and Hagrid out there trying to sneak peeks, so keep it tight-" Sumner cut himself off, noticing Brad for the first time. He beckoned Brad forward.

"Sir?" Brad said, standing up and heading to the front of the room.

"You're dismissed from this briefing and future briefings until further notified," Sumner said, formally. Brad frowned and Sumner continued. "You're a champion, now. You can't be getting an unfair advantage on the competition by attending security briefings. Dismissed."

 _Unfair advantage?_ There was nothing fair about how this was going to go down, but he understood. The last thing they needed was for TFA to be accused of bending or breaking rules. "Yes, sir." Brad saluted, turned on his heel and left the room.

He made a stop at the armory, where he checked out another several boxes of training ammunition for his HK416 and his sidearm. He'd been burning through the ammo lately, being that there wasn't much else to do but prepare.

By the time he'd checked out a Humvee and made it to the castle, people were stirring. Brad popped in to the Great Hall and saw that Harry, Ron and Hermione were already eating. He'd not been able to spend much time with them, so he took a seat.

"Hey, guys." It took Brad a moment to realize that the mood wasn't particularly great. Hermione was red in the face as she read a newspaper, Harry and Ron reading over her shoulder.

"That _unbelievable_ hag!" Hermione exclaimed, slapping the newspaper to the table. Even Mike gave Hermione a weird look at the uncharacteristic outburst. "I can't believe she got away with printing this!"

"Lemme see," Brad said, grabbing the paper. He read Rita's article and was amazed. It was almost _entirely_ fabrication. He'd never said any of that, and the implication that there was some kind of love triangle between Hermione, Harry and himself...it was preposterous.

Operators were, by their nature, not fond of reporters. It was born of their covert nature, as reporters did their level best to pry into things best left alone. The operators did their best to work without anyone else knowing. It was a relationship destined for conflict.

Bad reporters though, liars...those were a league unto their own. Brad was certain that no one in the task force would believe that horse-shit report and he was equally sure that none of them would appreciate a reporter taking such liberties with one of their guys. Life was gonna get uncomfortable for her quickly if she came back around there.

"Don't worry about it, nobody is gonna believe this trash," Brad assured her.

The rest of that morning at breakfast it appeared that the students of Hogwarts, especially Slytherin, and many of the Durmstrang students were hellbent on proving Brad wrong in that statement. More than once Hermione or Brad looked up to see students huddled in hushed whispers and barely audible conversation about the three of them.

"This is ridiculous," Hermione said, pushing away from the table and leaving the Great Hall. Harry, Ron, and Brad quickly followed. Brad did his level best to ignore the heads turning their way.

Out in the Entrance Hall, Reaper team was just heading inside, evidently finished with the briefing. Mike crossed the distance to the upset Hermione quickly, giving her a hug.

"Don't pay any attention to that BS," he told her. She nodded her head in agreement, but it obviously did little to assuage her.

"Sup, hero?" Jason greeted Brad, a good-natured grin on his face. Brad took the jab in stride.

"Saving lives, every day," Brad replied, rolling his eyes.

"I just can't believe you're trying to get things on with Mike's girl," Jason said, quiet enough that Mike and Hermione wouldn't hear. Brad raised an eyebrow and Jason smiled again. "Too soon, yeah."

"They unveil all of the secrets of the tournament at the briefing?" Brad asked. Being relieved of his command had been weirdly stressful. It was an interesting change of pace, not being in command and having duties pull him in several directions. He wasn't used to it, though. Now, without briefings as well, he was looking at a _lot_ of free time.

"Enough, bro," Jason confirmed, the joy rapidly replaced with worry. That wasn't a good sign.

"That bad, huh?" Brad asked. He knew better than to expect any hints or tips. The colonel was determined that the tournament would keep its integrity. That meant he went on the same paltry supply of intel as everyone else.

"Keep your shit in gear," Jason said. It was something they said when a particularly nasty fight was coming up. _Great._

"In better news," Mike spoke up loudly, his arm around Hermione as she leaned into him comfortably, "today is a Hogsmeade day. Everyone wanna go? You too, Brad?"

Everyone agreed that some time away from the school would be good, and Brad was looking forward to doing something that might get his mind of the first task, only a few days out.

They headed upstairs to the Gryffindor tower, a few hours to spare before they could head to Hogsmeade.

* * *

After a particularly vicious tournament of Wizard's Chess between Eric, Ron, Harry, and Jason, they'd headed down to the Entrance Hall, meeting everyone third year and above who had plans to visit Hogsmeade today. Reaper was doubling as the protection element for the trio along with the rest of the students for the trip to and from Hogsmeade.

Brad was surprised to see a small number of students from both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons as well among the crowd of students. Evidently, they were the adventurous sight-seers of their classes. He tried his best not to notice that Fleur was among the Beauxbatons students.

They were standing near where the trio and Reaper team had stopped and Brad could hear her talking to another one of the girls in French.

"Es-tu attiré par lui?" the girl asked, giving Brad a once over that she didn't try and hide. Fleur grabbed her friend's arm, pulling her away from Brad and the rest of them.

"Il a rejoint le tournoi pour m'impressionner, il est comme tous les autres garçons," Fleur replied. She started to turn back and look at him as she spoke, but caught herself. Her friend rolled her eyes in an exaggerated display.

Not for the first time, Brad wished he could speak French. He was certain they were talking about him, but had no idea what they were saying. It left him at a disadvantage.

"Good morning, everyone," Professor McGonagall said, apparently having made it to the front of the Entrance Hall. "If you will all follow me, we will start the walk to Hogsmeade." The crowd began its walk.

Some of the students, mostly third years that were going for the first time, leapt ahead full of energy. Most were content with a leisurely pace. Brad hung back a little, happy to just be walking among a crowd of people that were all interested in their own business.

He was dressed in denim jeans and a white and black flannel shirt, a tan jacket zipped up over the top of it. Another perk of not being perpetually "on duty" meant he wasn't required to be in uniform all the time. Brad was very comfortable in his multi-cams, but damn were jeans nice every now and then.

Brad supposed another perk of wearing this attire was that he actually blended in with the rest of the students pretty well. He wasn't sure if it was his outfit or the fact that these students were eager to get their adventure in Hogsmeade started, but hardly anyone looked at him, let alone made comments about the morning's newspaper.

Fleur and her friend were walking behind Brad for a brief time. It seemed, after a short while, that they were again succumbing to the cold, and they darted ahead of him. Her friend, a brunette with dark eyes, smiled at him as they passed. He tried to smile back, but she'd already turned around.

Ahead of him, Mike and Hermione held hands the whole way down, pushing at each other and laughing. Eric and Ron talked chess strategy, their match in the mini-tournament earlier having been a close one. Eric won, but only just.

As they made it to the outskirts of Hogsmeade, Brad couldn't help but admire the static defenses positioned in the woods on either side of the road. He knew exactly where to look and still found it challenging to spot them.

Using small, camouflaged defensive positions that were manned at all times, TFA could monitor traffic on the road into and out of town. If for some reason, someone were to try and attack Hogsmeade from the road, those two fighting positions would the first line of defense. He doubted if anyone else in their group would even notice the two positions and was content to keep it that way.

Mike and Hermione went to a small tea shop while Harry, Ron, Eric and Jason headed to the Three Broomsticks for drinks. Brad had fond memories of Butterbeer and was looking forward to another, but he wasn't quite done milling about by himself yet. After agreeing to head there after his walk, he set off.

He wasn't going anywhere in particular, just enjoying the sights. The students from Durmstrang were packing themselves into Zonkos and appeared excited at the prank items in particular. Fleur and her friend were at Hogsmeade station, looking at the train tracks and various landscape pictures posted of the countryside that were hanging from the walls.

Brad found himself migrating her way when he felt a tap on the shoulder. He turned and, to his dismay, saw none other than Rita Skeeter. She was without the cameraman this time. She chewed the tip of her quill with a wicked smile on her face.

"I don't suppose you're free for an exclusive?" Rita asked. Brad opened his mouth to respond, but was cut short by a furious, heavily accented shout from behind him.

"Go away, you 'orrible woman!" Fleur was shouting. Her face was red and she was waving her hands at the reporter as though to shoo her away. Her friend didn't look too happy either. Evidently, the piece on Fleur wasn't flattering either and Brad made a mental note to read it. "Leave an' print your lies somewhere else!"

Brad felt a swelling of pride at how fast the TFA security elements closed in on them. Fleur hadn't finished shouting, and three separate two-man teams were on them. Brad recognized Lieutenant Miles, the leader of 2nd platoon.

"Miss Rita Skeeter," Lieutenant Miles greeted her cheerfully. As Rita turned to face him, her face flushed by the recent accusations, the two soldiers behind her grabbed her wrists and elbows, forcing her arms behind her back. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to detain you for disturbing the peace. And Colonel Sumner would like a word as well."

"What are you-?" She attempted to free one of her arms, which earned her an arm painfully twisted further behind her back. She didn't try to fight them after that as they placed her wrists in flex cuffs. Miles ordered a Humvee to their location and within five minutes Rita Skeeter and Lieutenant Miles were driving down the road to Hogsmeade Outpost.

The outpost was really a recently unoccupied house that Colonel Sumner had purchased for use by TFA. As close as the FOB was to Hogsmeade, it was still necessary to have some kind of meeting and staging area in Hogsmeade itself. One of the bedrooms had been converted into a meeting room, another into a communications suite. Everything else, including the other two bedrooms, pretty much looked like a normal house.

Brad turned to see how Fleur was doing, she'd looked pretty heated. She'd disappeared, however. After looking around for a minute, he decided he was done mulling about town and headed to the Three Broomsticks.

* * *

"Miss Skeeter," Colonel Sumner greeted the reporter. She was sitting at the kitchen table and Sumner had just sat down on the opposite side. She was looking forward to putting the Colonel in his place. She'd never been so humiliated, being _arrested_ in public for disturbing the peace after that French ditz did all the screaming!

"You have no idea-" she started, grinning wickedly at the Colonel with the satisfaction that an article by her could ruin him. He cut her off, however.

"Close your damn mouth for a moment!" Sumner said sharply, staring her in the eyes in a way that unnerved her. She was used to people tiptoeing around her. She had a massive following through the Daily Prophet and she'd ruined more than one career when someone crossed her. Still, he looked supremely confident that _he_ held all the cards.

"I don't take threats to my command lightly, you understand?" Sumner asked, not breaking eye contact. He waited for a moment and she responded with a nod. "I know for a fact that what you wrote about Captain Gordon, and about most of the other champions...that was fabricated. Untrue, plain and simple. That means you're either stupid and bad at your job, or lying to get more readers."

"Now, just a mo-" Rita began to protest, but she was immediately shut down as Sumner continued talking and raised his voice.

"EITHER WAY," he said sharply, then lowering his voice again when she closed her mouth, "I find myself at the same conclusion. You're trying to stir up trouble where there isn't any and I won't allow that."

"You can't stop the press," Rita said, forcing a confident smile.

"You're right in that. What I can do, is restrict your access." Sumner didn't smile, didn't wink or give any outward sign that he was enjoying this. She could feel it though. He liked wielding this power over her, the smug son-of-a-bitch. "Before you will be allowed on Hogwarts grounds, you _will_ check in with the front gate. You will be assigned a liaison for any visit to the Hogwarts grounds and you _will not_ go anywhere without them. If you violate these rules, you will be treated as a trespasser and that is what will be reported to the Daily Prophet. Are we clear?"

"Well, I-" Rita started, but Sumner was giving her absolutely no room to maneuver in the conversation.

"You either understand or you do not," Sumner said forcefully. Rita nodded her head in agreement. "Wonderful. Miss Skeeter, you are free to go. Sergeant, please escort her to the front door." One of the soldiers grabbed Rita by the upper arm and lead her out of the house.

When the door slammed shut behind her, she stood up straight and straightened her glasses, smoothing out her skirt. That smug muggle was going to pay and she knew just how to do it.

* * *

Harry looked at his watch. It was approaching ten o'clock at night, the time he was supposed to meet Hagrid. The half-giant had, much to Harry's surprise, managed to be quite sneaky in getting a note to Harry under the noses of Reaper team.

 _Meet me at the cabin, ten o'clock, and bring yer cloak_

Harry wasn't sure what it was about, but Hagrid had been pretty bold to get the note to him and that concerned Harry. Hagrid had never been a stickler for the rules, unless of course Dumbledore had set them. Ten o'clock was past curfew and Hagrid was aware of that. It made Harry wonder again.

He sat up in bed, looking around the room. Everyone else was asleep. He slid silently out of bed and padded over to his trunk, where the invisibility cloak was kept. He reached in to pull it out and almost jumped out of his skin when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

"You don't need to use that," Jason said, closing the trunk with the cloak still inside. "If you're cold, there are extra blankets." Jason looked Harry in the eye and knew immediately that he was trying to sneak out. He was just giving Harry an out.

"Oh, right," Harry said, stumbling a bit as he stood up. Jason steadied him and lead him back to his bed. Harry sat, feeling heavy. It didn't look like he was going to make that meeting with Hagrid after all. Jason got him an extra blanket, even though it was reasonably warm in the Boys' Dormitory.

"Here you go," Jason said, setting it on the end of the bed. "And don't worry about anyone getting to ya, one of us will be up at any given point during the night." So, Jason was keeping someone from Reaper team awake to keep watch. That meant he wasn't getting out.

* * *

At FOB Phoenix, Colonel Sumner sat behind his desk heavily. He was tired. It was rapidly approaching midnight and he still had a lot to do.

 _Fucking dragons_! What in the flying fuck were they thinking? He was in his forties and he had no desire to go toe to toe with a dragon. He couldn't fathom pitting seventeen-year-olds against one.

He'd had to devote two squads at any given time to patrolling that section of the Forbidden Forest, paranoid about some enterprising student wandering into the paddock and being burned to a crisp. Sure, Charley Weasley and a handful of other dragon keepers were present, but they were having a hell of a time keeping the dragons under control.

It was just as well that he had people patrolling the forest. More than once, they'd caught Karkaroff trying to sneak a look. They'd caught Madame Maxine trying as well. It was better for the integrity of the tournament if they were all on even footing.

Still, Sumner was pained not giving his man intel on the dragons. He was not accustomed to having his men fight on even terms. A special operations force, by nature, fought against steep odds. It was almost always an outnumbered force in unfamiliar terrain fighting as quietly as possible. In order to increase the odds of survival, they had the best training and equipment available and they often operated with as much intelligence as possible on their targets. Weapons, numbers, training, behaviors and habits, anything that could give his fighters the edge.

He'd sworn to Dumbledore to uphold the integrity of the tournament and he intended to do so, but it went against everything he'd been trained to do.

Sumner set the stack of papers he was reviewing on his desk, taking a sip of his coffee. He wasn't sure why, but at that moment, he decided to look over at his filing cabinet and saw a small bug of some kind bouncing off of the keyhole, as though trying to get through it.

Sometimes, he hated nature. The last thing he needed was a keyhole full of bug guts in his Top Secret filing cabinet.

Glancing around his desk, he found the copy of the Daily Prophet that he'd read earlier that morning. He glanced at the cover one more time, fuming at that slanderous reporter. He rolled up the newspaper, crept to the filing cabinet and _whack!_ He glanced at the newspaper, confirming the kill, and then tossed it in the trash.


	43. Anticipation

Brad sat in his full gear, the butt of his rifle planted between his feet as he rested his head on a tent pole with his eyes closed. He could hear Krum and Cedric pacing back and forth nervously. Fleur was sitting on the other side of the tent from Brad, looking a little pale and occupying herself by fidgeting with her wand.

He heard someone approaching and opened his eyes. Cedric was standing before him, chewing on the inside of his lip with a worried look.

"You don't look too worried." Cedric said. Brad lifted his head and rolled his shoulders, trying to shift his plate carrier from where it was rubbing obnoxiously against his neck.

"I'm scared shitless," Brad admitted calmly. Krum stopped pacing and Fleur looked at him, but he ignored them both. "But dwelling on it isn't gonna get me anywhere."

"Huh." Cedric clearly didn't expect that answer and it did little to alleviate the stress.

"Just focus on what's next, man." Brad had been given the same advice by Instructor Martinez back when he was fourteen years old and waiting for the C-130 to open its bay door for his first live parachute jump.

The secret to courage was that everyone was scared. Anyone who said otherwise was either lying to you or to themselves, and both lies were dangerous. Courageous and brave soldiers weren't fearless, they just chose to act through the fear.

"Chunk things off," he continued. "Put things into manageable, bite-sized pieces. You don't need to win the tournament right here and now. Just wait till the judges get here. Then, all you have to do is listen to them. Then, make it out of the tent. Then, whatever we're supposed to do next. The important thing is to keep going."

"Right, thanks," Cedric nodded his head and paced over to an empty chair to sit. Krum nodded a moment and then turned back to his brief pacing routine while Fleur, who had been watching him as well turned back to her wand.

The tent flap opened and everyone turned to look. It was just Harry. He crossed the open space and sat next to Brad, pulling out his wand and handing it to the operator.

"Try not to break it," Harry said. It felt wrong somehow, not having his wand on him. Brad took it, looked at it a moment, and then slid it into a pouch on his plate carrier.

"I'll get it back to you in one piece." Brad agreed. They sat there, silently for a moment before Bagman burst into the tent.

"Oh, everyone's here, wonderful!" he said, rubbing his hands together excitedly. Brad stood up, pulling the rifle up with him and clipping the butt to a sling on his harness. Afterward, it hung comfortably in front of him and he rested his arm on it.

Fleur and Cedric stood simultaneously and everyone naturally drifted toward Bagman. He smiled at each of them.

"I suppose I can start telling you," he turned his head back to the tent flap and craned his neck, presumably looking for the judges. Brad couldn't tell if he was talking to them in spite of the judges being absent or because of it. "In a few moments, Mr. Crouch is going to come in with a bag. Inside the bag will be models of the very things you will face!" He seemed hardly able to contain himself.

There was a shifting of what sounded like heavy chains outside on the other side of the tent, toward where the cacophonous sound of cheering students had been resonating from. The cheering turned into gasps of surprise for a moment and every head in the tent turned as a loud roar sounded nearby. Brad couldn't help thinking that it sounded exactly how he imagined a large dinosaur would sound.

 _Am I fighting a fucking dinosaur?_ Was that even possible? He wasn't sure. Every time he turned around, magic presented him with something new and surprising. He'd almost finished convincing himself that he was going to have to square off against a T-Rex when Bagman continued.

"If they don't give the surprise away first, that is," he muttered. "Anyhow, there's a golden egg. Your task is simply to retrieve the golden egg."

Great. Steal an egg from a dinosaur. Piece of cake. He probably should have put that M203 grenade launcher on his rifle, though. He thought for a moment, remembering that they'd put several M3A1 Carl Gustav recoilless rifles in the OCDS satellite.

He pulled up the wrist computer and looked at the location of the satellite. Lady luck was shining down on him. It was in a really good position to get him equipment right now. He ordered the system to load up the M3A1 and prepare it for delivery. He wouldn't order it until he was in the field, but the load up took time he didn't want to wait.

The tent flap opened again and Mr. Crouch, complete with expected bag, and the rest of the school heads filed in.

"Gather around me," Mr. Crouch announced. The champions complied, each of them drifting near the head of their school. "Now, outside there-"

"I couldn't help myself," Bagman cut in. "I already told them about the eggs." Crouch glared at his Ministry counterpart, but continued.

"Very well," he sighed. "Miss Delacour, you first." He held the bag out to her and she swallowed hard. Smoke was puffing from the open bag and she hesitantly reached in. She pulled out a small, moving model of a…

Motherfucker, it was a dragon. Not just a damned dinosaur, a _fire-breathing dinosaur._ Shit.

"The Welsh Green, very good," Crouch said, turning the bag to Victor Krum. The champion didn't hesitate, he plunged his hand into the bag and Crouch had to fight to keep the bag from slipping from his fingers. He pulled out his dragon. "Ah, the Chinese Fireball."

Cedric smiled wryly as the bag was opened in front of him. He pulled his dragon out of the bag and Crouch looked at it. "The Swedish Short-Snout, hmm." Crouch now had an almost sorrowful look as he held the bag open for Brad. That didn't bode well.

Brad reached in and felt small claws dig into his shooting gloves and pulled his hand out. His dragon looked _mean_. The other dragons looked...well, like dragons. His looked like something that had evolved to kill. There were horns and barbs all over the dragon, including a large spiked tail. "The Hungarian Horntail."

The operator pushed down the thoughts in his head that told him he couldn't handle this. They waited in the edges of his mind, ready to strike if he gave them the opportunity. He forced the thoughts aside and focused on Crouch.

"Mr. Diggory, you'll be first. At the sound of the cannon, retrieve your egg," Mr. Crouch said. Cedric nodded but looked like he was dazed. Brad elbowed him and got his attention.

"Chunk it, bro. You got this." It made him feel better too, giving advice to help someone. Cedric nodded again, more confident this time. Crouch assigned the places of the others. Fleur was second, then Krum, and finally Brad.

Brad sighed when he found out he'd be last. He preferred to get his shit done. Stewing and waiting was a pain, but he supposed if anyone was going to perform well after listening to several dragon battles, it would be him.

Cedric crossed to the other side of the tent as the Judges left, off to their podium from which they would observe the competition. It seemed like a long wait until, finally, _BOOM!_ At the sound of the cannon, he hesitated for a moment, then exited the tent.

Brad went back to his seat, closing his eyes and resting his head against the tent pole. Krum paced around the tent again and Fleur, not having moved since the judges left, finally sat down again. It was maddening.

Through the tent they could hear eruptions of cheering, gasps of concern or awe...to top it off, Bagman was narrating his thoughts on the event, though not sharing anything that could be useful. Mostly they were simple comments.

"Ooh, he almost had it there!"

"Careful!"

"Wow, it almost got him there!"

That continued for fifteen minutes until finally there was an uproar unlike anything before it. Even Bagman cheered. Cedric had finished, had gotten his egg. Brad opened his eyes and saw Fleur stand up. She was close enough to him that he could see her chin was trembling and her knuckles were white as she gripped her wand tightly.

"If he could do it, you can," Brad said. She looked him in the eye for the first time in a very long time. He could see the fear in her eyes, but there was determination there too. She stood a little taller and when the cannon sounded, she stepped out of the tent without hesitation.

He was surprised to find that he had a harder time relaxing while she was out there battling her dragon. She'd only just exited the tent when there were gasps of surprise from the crowd and Bagman shouted "Oh no!"

Brad had started leaning forward, for the briefest moment ready to charge out there and assist. He caught himself before he could even lift out of the chair and wondered at himself. What was it about her that caused him to lose his mind.

She was out there for ten minutes before the same cheer erupted from the crowd, the cheer of people watching a victory. Two down, one to go. Then it was his turn.

Krum, already familiar with competition nerves, stood by the opening of the tent and waited for his turn. He turned to Brad. "Good luck." Krum said just before the cannon sounded. Krum left Brad alone in the tent.

As the cheering increased, Brad stood up and began stretching his legs. He was nervous as hell. Fighting a dragon, they were sure starting things off strong. He flexed his fingers, opening his hands and balling them into fists over and over.

Images kept flashing into his head. His flesh burning as he tried to exit the tent, missing shots and hitting someone in the crowd, being eaten alive…every worst-case scenario flashed through his brain. Well, that shit wasn't helping. He forced the thoughts aside by running something comforting through his mind.

 _Recognizing that I volunteered as a Ranger, fully knowing the hazards of my chosen profession, I will always endeavor to uphold the prestige, honor, and high esprit-de-corps of_ _my_ _Ranger_ _Regiment_ _._

He wasn't an Army Ranger, but he was trained by a number of them and the Ranger Creed had always resonated with him. He felt his pulse slow a little and his breathing return to a more reasonable rate.

 _Acknowledging the fact that a Ranger is a more elite_ _S_ _oldier who arrives at the cutting edge of battle by land, sea, or air, I accept the fact that as a Ranger my country expects me to move further, faster and fight harder than any other_ _S_ _oldier._

Another cheer as Krum battled his dragon. Bagman shouted some words of encouragement to the Champion.

 _Never shall I fail my comrades. I will always keep myself mentally alert, physically strong_ _,_ _and morally straight and I will shoulder more than my share of the task_ _,_ _whatever it may be, one hundred percent and then some._

A round of gasps and oohs. Krum made some kind of slip. Bagman's words got faster and more excited until the crowd erupted in cheers and applause.

 _Gallantly will I show the world that I am a specially selected and well-trained_ _S_ _oldier. My courtesy to superior officers, neatness of dress, and care of equipment shall set the example for others to follow._

Brad looked down at his HK416, racking a round into the chamber. He took a deep breath, shouldered the weapon at low ready and stepped to the end of the tent.

 _Energetically will I meet the enemies of my country. I shall defeat them on the field of battle for I am better trained and will fight with all my might. Surrender is not a Ranger word. I will never leave a fallen comrade to fall into the hands of the enemy and under no circumstances will I ever embarrass my country._

Brad waited, ready to call that M3A1 and haul ass out of the tent. His breathing was even and his mind was focused. It was time to fight.

 _Readily will I display the intestinal fortitude required to fight on to the Ranger objective and complete the mission, though I be the lone survivor._ _Rangers Lead The Way!_

The heavy thump of the cannon sounded and Brad tapped the screen of his SOLDA. ETA for his weapon, four minutes. He raised the barrel of his rifle and burst out of the tent.


	44. The First Task

AN - Sorry folks, couldn't help the cliffhanger, but I also couldn't just make you all wait. Enjoy!

* * *

The first thing he did was scan the area in front of him. Where was the dragon? Where was there cover? Distances, dangers, anything he thought important was filed into the back of his mind as he darted forward.

He was running through a narrow tunnel that lead into the arena. The arena was about the size of a Quidditch field, though not nearly as even. There were boulders and rocks scattered throughout the uneven terrain.

There were hundreds and hundreds of people in the stadium and they all seemed to be shimmering slightly. Some sort of protective field, he supposed. It wouldn't do for a dragon to burn half the crowd.

On the opposite end of the field sat the Hungarian Horntail. She looked _mean_. It had to be at least fifty feet from nose to tail spike. The dragon noticed him for the first time as he burst into the arena, sliding to cover behind a boulder. He saw its leathery black wings stretch in anticipation as it eyed him with evil, yellow eyes.

He peeked around the edge of the boulder at the dragon. It was staring right at him, its mouth open slightly. It whipped its tail from side to side leaving a meter-long gouge in the rock beside it.

"You look pissed," Brad muttered, gripping his rifle tightly. It didn't feel nearly big enough. The dragon, still a fair distance away, gave a soft growl and looked down slightly. He followed its gaze and saw a clutch of eggs in front of it, the golden one sitting in the center of the pile.

There was the objective. His experienced eyes scanned the terrain around him and he found the next spot of cover he'd run to. He didn't give himself time to consider hesitating. He pushed himself out of cover and darted toward the next rock.

The Horntail bellowed in rage and Brad reflexively snapped his rifle up, firing several shots at it. He was disappointed to see the red streaks bounce harmlessly off the dragon's oily black scales. If anything, he'd just pissed that dragon off.

It stomped forward a few steps, just as he was reaching his cover, and belched a gout of flames at him. He made it to cover just in time but the air around him got _hot_. He pulled himself close, trying to make as small a target as possible. This was stupid, _holy fuck_ this was stupid. What was he doing here?

He heard the sound of something breaking the sound barrier and looked up at the sky. He saw the streak of an atmospheric reentry pod angled for the left end of the field, closer to his target than he'd prefer. After a moment, he risked a glance over the rock.

The dragon was looking up at the pod and Brad noticed that the whole end of the rock he was using for cover had been melted slightly. He made the most of his opportunity, breaking from cover again and sprinting hard for another boulder nearer to where the pod was going to land. He was going to need to get that M3A1 _fast._ No way the dragon was going to let him blow it to hell without a fight.

He slid behind the boulder, now closer to the dragon. He could faintly hear the roaring of the crowd and Bagman's booming voice, but he didn't try to listen to what they were saying. He needed to focus. The dragon roared at him and he heard a _whoosh_ of air as the dragon swiped its tail overhead.

Glancing back up at the pod he could swear he saw a feint gray streak rip toward it from somewhere outside the arena. It confused him for the split second that he saw it, then it was gone. Its effect was not, however. The pod angled sharply away from the field and he felt his stomach flip as the pod fell outside the stadium somewhere.

"FUCK!" Brad shouted louder than he'd intended. He'd been counting on that firepower. Evidently, the Hungarian Horntail was not fond of foul language. It responded with another gout of flame that licked at his right side, forcing him to scoot more central to prevent more serious burns. Now what?

He had to get that fucking egg. He needed to get a bit closer, within grenade throwing range. Maybe he could hit it with a stun grenade, distract it long enough to grab the egg. He'd seen another boulder to his right that was suitable.

Again, without allowing himself time to over-analyze, he bolted from cover. He'd just made it out of his cover and almost shit a brick when he saw the dragon's spiked tail swinging at him. It was _a lot_ closer than he'd thought. He tried to stop but his momentum betrayed him and he felt the heavy impact of the spike hitting him in the chest plate, lifting him off of his feet.

He flew through the air and for an absurdly slow moment, he saw the faces of all three other champions. His eyes locked on Fleur, her hand covering her mouth in horror, and a thought entered his head. _Damn it, she's watching this shit show._

Then his back smashed into a boulder, rocking his head back quickly. His helmet prevented him from directly smacking his head against rock, but it rang his bell for sure. Through blurry eyes, he raised his rifle and began firing at what he thought was the dragon's head. He let go of the rifle with one hand, pushing himself up with the other.

As his vision cleared, he saw that he was indeed shooting the dragon in its face, and the dragon was _not_ happy. It stomped toward him and he scrambled to the right toward another boulder. He dove behind it, scraping both of his elbows, as another gout of flame burst from the dragon's mouth. His right foot was too far out and he felt his foot get intensely hot. Cursing, he brought his knees up, getting himself fully behind cover.

He could hear the dragon pounding toward him and distinctly heard Bagman's shout.

"Oh, dear, this doesn't look good!" _Thanks for the vote of confidence._

He pulled an M84 stun grenade from the pouch on his chest and yanked out the pin. He was relatively sure that the shimmer around the crowd was a shield, but he wasn't sure enough to bet a frag grenade. He quickly jumped up, seeing the dragon was yet again closer than he'd hoped. He pitched the grenade directly toward the dragon's head and dove back under cover.

 _CRACK!_ The grenade detonated, producing in the neighborhood of seven million candela and a hundred and eighty decibels of sound right in the creature's face. It was _very_ loud, _very_ bright, and he hoped it would be enough.

Standing up from his cover and raising his rifle, he saw the dragon swaying its head back and forth, its tail swinging around and its wings flexing as it struggled to maintain its balance. _It worked!_ Time to press the advantage.

He darted toward the egg clutch and he'd made it within ten feet when he heard a steady thump behind him and a roar of rage. _Shit_. He turned and took a knee, raising his rifle up. The dragon opened its mouth, inhaling deep for another burst of flames.

Brad flicked the switch on the side of his rifle, turning from semi-automatic to automatic, and let loose the remaining rounds in his magazine of stunning ammunition. He'd aimed directly at the creature's mouth, hoping that it was less protected from magic in there.

The dragon hitched, rearing its head back and thrashing back and forth wildly before falling onto its side. Brad didn't wait to check his handiwork. He turned, ejected the magazine and pulled another another into place as he crossed the last several feet. He bent down, picked up the large golden egg, and heard the crowd erupt in cheers.

Suddenly, dragon keepers were swarming the arena and Brad was acutely aware of everyone watching him. He stood the rest of the way, glancing around for the exit. He saw Colonel Sumner and Professor McGonagall waving him over and crossed the distance at a jog, his right foot shooting pain up his leg with every step. That bastard had ruined his boot.

"Well done, Captain," Sumner patted him on the back as he passed. Professor McGonagall grabbed his elbow and guided him toward a medical tent where Madam Pomfrey was waiting.

"You'll need to get checked out before get your score." She brushed soot from his shoulder and eyed him front and back, inspecting him for damage.

"Dragons...unbelievable," Madam Pomfrey sighed as he entered the tent. "Basilisks, dementors, now this. Maybe they'll invite giant spiders next year." She pulled his boot off of his tender foot as he took off the plate carrier. He saw a ragged hole in the chest where his ceramic plate took the spike.

As she rubbed some kind of paste onto his foot that left it immediately feeling cooled and better, he pulled the ceramic plate out. The hole punched almost all the way through and was only an inch from the bottom of the plate. He'd been lucky as hell, an inch lower and he'd have been speared through the gut.

"Colonel," Brad called out, thinking about luck. The colonel stepped into the tent as Madam Pomfrey lowered his foot and set to work on an anti-concussion potion for the knock to his head, along with a potion to help the ache in his back that he was just starting to notice. "Sir, I think someone sabotaged the OCDS pod."

"Is that so?" Sumner asked. The sudden change in direction was definitely not something they'd seen a pod do before, even when it burst during reentry.

"Yes, sir," Brad nodded, accepting a tall glass with a thick, brown, bubbling liquid that smelled vaguely of mildew. He eyed it for a moment.

"Drink up, then." She tilted the bottom of the glass up and he began chugging the liquid. The first gulp almost made him throw up, but once he was on a roll, he finished the glass out. It was only after the last gulp went down that he wretched hard.

"Holy hell," he said hoarsely, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his uniform. "Sir," he tried to concentrate on what he needed to say. "I saw something hit the side of the pod on its way down."

"Alright," Sumner replied, digesting the new information. "I already have a squad tracking the pod down. Can't go leaving ordinance like that laying around. We'll inspect the pod when we get it."

"Copy that," Brad said. Madam Pomfrey began wiping the paste off of his foot and his skin looked like new. Magic was pretty badass sometimes.

"Here ya go, sir," someone said behind him. He turned and saw a private handing him a pair of boots. He accepted them, surprised. "Sergeant Steele said you'd need 'em."

"Good man," Brad said, pulling the boots on. He slung the plate carrier back over his shoulders, feeling a lot better after drinking that awful fluid.

"Let's go see your score," Colonel Sumner said. They walked out and rejoined Professor McGonagall, who was conversing quietly with Harry. Brad pulled Harry's wand from the pouch it was residing in and handed it over. Harry gave it a brief inspection.

"Nothing happened then?" Brad asked. Harry shook his head.

"Nothing," he agreed. Brad smiled, that was one thing they had going for them.

"Good, good." They all walked together until they could see the judges. On seeing them, they began raising their wands, producing numbers from the tip.

Barty Crouch – 8  
Dumbledore – 8  
Ludo Bagman – 8  
Madame Maxine – 9  
Karkaroff – 4

All in all, not a bad total. The crowd booed at Karkaroff when his number popped up, but it didn't really faze Brad too much. He didn't care about winning the damned competition. He wanted to survive it.

"Well done," Sumner said. He clapped Brad on the back one more time, then left. Ron, Hermione, and the rest of Reaper team joined him.

"You tied for second!" Jason exclaimed, shaking Brad by the shoulders. Brad couldn't help the grin that crept on him. His exhaustion after the fight was giving way to the elation of winning a battle.

He listened as his friends recounted the previous champions work. Cedric, it appeared, had transfigured a rock into a dog to distract his dragon. It worked, for a bit. Cedric got his egg but was burned in the process.

Fleur had charmed her dragon to sleep, which Brad found impressive. He'd never considered the possibility. Her dragon snored a flame that burned her clothes a bit, but she also managed to get her egg.

Krum turned out to be the only one not injured in some way. He'd hit the dragon directly in the eye with some kind of curse that made it stumble around the arena. He'd had to dodge the dragon as it swung around wildly and stomped on some of the eggs, but he too got his egg.

Before long, Professor McGonagall returned and told him that the champions needed to meet in the tent one last time. He parted from the group of his closest friends and headed back to the tent where they'd waited earlier.

He was the last one to enter and the rest of the champions tuned to face him. Cedric crossed the distance quickly, half of his face was pink with freshly grown skin. He smiled broadly.

"Good work," he said, holding out a hand for a shake. "And thanks."

"You bet," Brad replied, shaking his hand. They'd just broken apart when Mr. Crouch entered with Ludo Bagman.

"Fantastic!" Bagman exclaimed just as Crouch opened his mouth to speak. The elder Ministry official shot his exuberant coworker a withering glance, but Bagman was too distracted to notice. "You all did _marvelous_."

"Quite," Crouch agreed. Before Bagman could continue, Crouch started, "Now that you have your eggs, it is time to prepare for the next task. You'll have plenty of time, the next task isn't until the twenty-fourth of February. You'll need to crack the riddle within the egg if you want any hope of succeeding. Well done, everyone." Crouch turned and left the tent and Bagman stayed only a moment, as though wanting to say more. He seemed to think the better of it and left.

Cedric and Krum quickly followed and Brad was gathering his egg when he saw Fleur walking up to him. His heart began hammering again and he cursed it silently, commanding it in vain to stop jumping every time she was near.

"You did a wonderful job out there," she said softly. Her melodious voice was soothing and he smiled at her.

"You too," Brad said. "I heard you charmed it to sleep." She looked troubled and Brad stood, fully facing her.

"I'm sorry for 'ow I've acted," she said. "I..." her eyes darted around, everywhere but him. "I'm sorry."

"Water under the bridge," Brad replied, surprised at how relieved he was that she was talking to him. She responded with a half-smile that was gone as quick as it came. After standing there for a moment she looked him in the eye one more time, looking like she had more to say, then turned quickly and left.


	45. Tampering

AN - Blaze1992, in response to your comment, I would say the spell was silent and everyone was primarily focused on the guy fighting a dragon instead of the drop pod. Sorry for the delay in updating, folks. Enjoy!

* * *

Brad stopped at the armory inside Hogwarts to change out of his kit before heading up to the Gryffindor tower to get some rest. He set the ceramic plate aside. It was useless as armor now, the integrity now compromised by the hole, but he thought it would make a neat memento.

His rifle was placed in the rack next to his personal locker, where he stowed the shining golden egg. He'd clean all of his equipment tomorrow, he really didn't have the energy to tackle it then and there.

The adrenaline buzz had worn off on his way back to the castle and it left him feeling drained. Typically, he had after action reports to write and the like. That was one of the perks of competing in the tournament, he supposed. No reports.

He rinsed himself off in a makeshift shower that had been placed in the armory, inspecting his body for damage. His elbows were still scraped and his foot shared that fresh pink that Cedric had, the skin newly repaired from its burns. There was a bruise forming in his chest, but he was pleased to note that both his head and back felt fine. Not bad, after going toe-to-toe with a dragon.

Drying off quickly, Brad changed into a pair of jeans and one of his tan undershirts before heading upstairs. He received several claps to the back and handshakes from enthusiastic soldiers, giving him words of praise for his performance.

When he finally made it to the Gryffindor tower and opened the portrait, a party was raging inside. He hesitated, not wanting to enter the fray. It was too late to back out now, however, and he was pulled inside by Fred and Angelina.

"OUR CHAMPION!" Fred bellowed as Brad made it inside and the party erupted in cheers. Nearby, Harry and Ron laughed at the bewildered look on Brad's face.

"It's been decided that you're an honorary Gryffindor now," Ron explained. It turned out that, watching the event unfold, it had been decided that Brad displayed the courage, bravery, and determination that exemplified the house of Gryffindor. Brad suspected that it had more to do with them wanting an excuse to throw a party, however.

"Too right," George said, handing Brad a drink, the contents of which Brad did not intend to learn. He knew better than to trust them around food and drink, and slyly set it on a table nearby, picking up an empty cup instead.

"You did _great_ out there," Fred mimicked holding a rifle and shooting up at the dragon. "Amazing stuff, I knew betting on you would pay off!"

"There were bets?" Brad asked. He should have known the two would have been taking bets on the outcome.

"And we bet on you!" George said, smiling broadly. He moved elsewhere in the party and Brad migrated to a corner of the room where Sara, Mike and Hermione were sitting together.

"Good shooting, bro," Mike said, holding a hand out for a fist bump. Brad obliged and leaned up against the wall, crossing his arms.

"Where is everyone?" He'd scanned the room and couldn't find Jason or Eric. He saw Harry talking with Ron and Neville about something, but the rest of the operators were gone.

"Oh, they're out," Mike evaded. Brad didn't like the sound of that. He opted to go for the weak link.

"Sergeant?" Brad asked, looking directly at Sara. She looked like a deer caught in headlights.

"Don't look at _me_ ," she said quickly, turning her eyes to the pastry she was holding.

"Mhmm," Brad said, but she was saved from further questioning by the portrait opening once again, silence descending on the room. Jason and Eric entered and, much to Brad's consternation, Jason was holding the golden egg.

"You stole my egg!" Brad said, patting his pocket for the key to his personal locker. It was still in his pocket. Jason just smiled, slipping a lock picking set from his pocket and then returning it. "You jackass," Brad said, accepting the egg when Jason handed it over.

"Come on, man!" Jason laughed, "We all want to hear what the clue is!" Brad had hoped not to be tackling this yet, but seeing the hopeful faces around him planted the seed of curiosity in his mind. It wasn't a _bad_ idea to get started on the riddle right away, after all.

"What," Brad lifted the egg above his head and noted with amusement that all of the heads in the common room turned up to follow. "You want to hear _this?_ "

A cheering chorus of affirmation rang out and Brad smiled. He turned the egg over, examining it thoroughly for the first time. It was surprisingly simple, just shiny gold with four grooves and a small indentation at the top, just enough for a fingernail to get in.

He pried it open and almost dropped it when a high-pitched screech emanated from it. He fumbled with it a bit as people gasped and covered their ears and he managed to get his hands around the bottom, forcing the egg closed. His ears rang for a moment afterward.

"Sounded like a banshee," Seamus Finnigan said, breaking the silence. "Maybe you've got to fight one of those next."

Brad opened his mouth wide, trying to ease the discomfort in his ears. He'd been at ground zero when the egg screeched in his face. A banshee? He'd heard of them before but was sure that most of what he knew was myth and not fact.

Small arguments broke out over what the meaning of the hint could be. Torture and banshees wound up being the two most prominent theories.

They stayed up for a little while longer, winding down from the thrill of the tournament and their energetic party. Brad sipped at a glass of some kind of sweet juice that he wasn't familiar with, only accepting it because it _hadn't_ come from Fred or George.

Neville, the poor kid, turned into a giant canary, the first to indulge in one of their prank sweets. Hermione, for her part, slyly worked out how the two managed to get so much food for the party. Before realizing that they were revealing their secret, they'd told her how to get into the kitchen.

They immediately regretted it, fearing that Hermione would stir rebellion among the house-elves. She refused to confirm or deny her plans and the twins left, looking worried.

Finally, Brad announced he was turning in. He was dismayed to see it was approaching one in the morning and he was _exhausted._ He was unconscious before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

"Gator 1-1, go ahead," Sumner spoke into the radio. It was after midnight, but he was still awake in the FOB Phoenix command center. He wanted to be up when his squad retrieved the reentry pod containing an anti-tank weapon.

Gator had entered the Forbidden Forest within an hour of the first task finishing. They'd checked in at regular intervals, reporting nothing of import the entire time. As it got darker their progress slowed. The Forbidden Forest was a dangerous place and, of course, whatever happened to the pod had knocked its GPS tracking device out as well. The pod was dark, no GPS signal whatsoever.

It had been many long hours before Gator team made contact at a time that _wasn't_ their scheduled check-in.

"Gator 1-1 reports objective success. Will make way to checkpoint..." he paused, presumably checking his map for the nearest stretch of roadway for the Humvees to meet them. "Bravo. Checkpoint Bravo, ETA twenty mikes, how copy?"

"Overlord copies all," Sumner replied. "Overlord out." He stood up, stretching his back. Twenty minutes until they made it to the road, then probably another fifteen or so before they reached the FOB.

Sumner left the communications room and returned to his office to wait for the return of Gator squad. He was glad that they'd accomplished their mission, but then he'd expected no less from them. Still, it was a weight off his chest to know that there wouldn't be centaurs roaming the countryside with a recoilless rifle. He liked them better with bows and arrows.

He sat down in his comfortable chair and sighed, looking at the report on his desk. Picking it up, he thumbed through it. It was a relief to know that all four dragons were now safely on the way back to the preserve from where they'd originated.

He'd been perilously close to losing his cool when the Ministry informed him that the first task would involve dragons. Knowing that he had an operator in that fight, he was not in the least bit excited at the prospect of sending that man into the fire, figuratively and literally, without intel or backup.

It took a night of wrestling back and forth in his head over whether or not to go against his promise to the Headmaster to uphold the integrity of the tournament. In the end, he'd chosen to trust his operator to know his shit, in addition to having a difficult time compromising his integrity. Thankfully, Brad was a top-notch fighter and he came out on top.

It wasn't pretty, but then it didn't have to be. Brad made it out of there with ten fingers, ten toes, and zero brain damage. That was a win in Sumner's book.

Now he was stuck trying to get things prepared for the second task, and that promised to be even more of a struggle for his man than the first one was. The plan was to recruit a closely held relationship, one for each champion, to act as hostages for the merpeople under the lake.

Dumbledore and the Ministry assured Sumner that the hostages would be in absolutely no danger whatsoever, but he still found it difficult. Asking one of his boys, because that was who Brad cared most about, to go be an underwater hostage...it was a tall order and one that he didn't relish in.

He reviewed the likely subjects. Harry was the first one that came to mind, and he was just as easily dismissed. The whole reason Captain Gordon was participating in the tournament to begin with was threat against Harry. Putting him underwater as a hostage wasn't an option.

Next up, Ron or Hermione. Neither of them really fit the bill either. They were friends, sure. They weren't the closest though, not like Mike and Hermione or something like that. Sgt. Freeman was a new addition to Reaper team and there wasn't much time for her and Brad to get acquainted. He could use Mike, Eric or Jason but the thought of pulling one of the team members for hostage duty really didn't excite him.

He decided to shelf the thought process for now. There would still be plenty of time to select someone and he wasn't getting anywhere running the same thoughts over and over again. It'd probably seem obvious once he came at it with a fresh mind.

Setting the paperwork down, he looked at his watch. It had been almost forty minutes. _How time flies._ Sumner had just reached the front door of his office when he heard the familiar rumble of Humvee engines. The only rigs that were out were with Gator squad.

Sumner headed to the motor pool, arriving just as they finished parking. Sergeant Long hopped out of his seat, quickly pulling the long cylinder from the back of the Humvee. Another soldier from the same vehicle pulled out a bright flashlight, illuminating a spot on the side of the pod.

"Clear as day," the sergeant grunted. There was a large dent in the side of the reentry pod. Before the colonel could ask, Long continued. "Landed in a little clearing. No rocks, no trees. Nothing to hit that would have caused this."

"The pod as upright?" Sumner asked, knowing it wasn't likely that the pod landed on its side. The top of each reentry pod contained the computers and gyros necessary to accurately land it where they wanted and how they wanted, along with fins to slow it down prior to landing. There were also small jets to slow the pod further and for minor course correction if it was necessary.

"Affirmative." Sgt Long chewed his lip a moment. "She landed just like she should, only with a big ass dent in the side." He widened his eyes in surprise, realizing he just let a curse slip in front of the colonel.

"Get it to the armory," Sumner ordered. They'd just have a Gustav recoilless rifle at the FOB, not that they really needed it. He looked at the sergeant for a moment, then turned and left. The sergeant knew he'd messed up and Sumner had bigger fish to fry.

* * *

Brad woke with a start, reflexively reaching for the hand that had gripped his shoulder before realizing that he recognized the face. It was Jason. The room was still dark with night and though Brad still felt tired, he was alert with adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream.

"Sorry, bro," Jason said, recognizing the look on Brad's face. Brad had been sleeping deep when Jason woke him.

"What's up?" Brad asked.

"Sumner wants you at the FOB ASAP for a briefing," Jason said, standing fully as Brad sat up and slid out of bed. "Didn't say why."

"Shit," was all Brad could say. He figured it had something to do with the tournament. Still, he couldn't help the thought that he'd _just_ been told he wouldn't be attending briefings. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was 0434. It was gonna be a long day.

He pulled on a uniform as Jason went back to his duties. Once he was satisfied, he headed downstairs and heard the rumble of a Humvee waiting for him. That meant that the colonel really did want to see him ASAP, which meant something was wrong.

Brad hopped into the front passenger seat and the Humvee was rolling before he had a chance to get the door closed all the way.

The drive was uneventful and Brad rested his eyes, milking the last dribbles of rest while he still could. Quicker than he'd hoped, they were arriving at the FOB and Brad was dropped off by the command building.

"Sir," one of the sentries acknowledged Brad as he entered the building. Sumner was talking to one of the communications technicians when he entered and the colonel stopped mid-sentence.

"My office, now." The colonel turned to finish his business while Brad worked his way to the office, a pit in his stomach. Brad entered and sat at one of the chairs in front of the desk, waiting for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally, the colonel opened the door and stepped inside. Brad started to stand up but the colonel waved his hand, walking quickly to his chair. "Sit," Sumner said as he himself took a seat. Sumner looked Brad in the eyes wearily. "You were right."

"Sir?" Brad asked. It was a relief, at least, to know he hadn't pissed of the colonel.

"The reentry pod, something hit it. Knocked it out of the sky." Sumner rubbed his tired face. "Someone is tampering with the tournament, and this time they were gunning for you."

"I see." It was confusing, the puzzle pieces didn't fit together very well. But he was certain that they fit together. Someone had entered Harry's name into the tournament, presumably to cause him harm. Now that Brad was competing for him, their sights were on him. "Better me than Harry, at least."

"I still don't like it," Sumner said. "This whole magical contract thing is a pain in the ass." It was one of the things Brad liked about their senior officer. He didn't tolerate insubordination but he wasn't a stuck up prude either. If he didn't like something it was a safe bet that he would speak up.

"Yes, sir, it is," Brad replied, and he felt the full truth of it. Fighting that dragon had not been his idea of a good time and it was only going to get more challenging. It presented a unique challenge, not being able to whisk Harry away to safety. Now that the competition had started, there was an obligation to stay and finish it out.

"I want to keep you in the loop, as much as I am allowed." Sumner looked seriously at Brad. "Someone is gunning for you and probably Harry too. You watch your back and keep an eye out for _anything_ suspicious."

"Understood, sir." Brad stood up as the colonel did.

"You've done good out there, son," Sumner said, shaking Brad's hand. "Keep it up. Dismissed."

Brad left the office and headed outside. It was still dark out. When he looked at his watch he saw that it was ten after five. Not wanting to go through the process of obtaining a driver to get him back to Hogwarts, he opted to walk.

The walk was peaceful. Small animals and creatures were starting to stir as the sun peeked over the horizon. Not for the first time, he decided he liked nature. It had a calming effect on him.

He spent the walk thinking about the egg. It had screeched loudly when he opened it. Not the response he'd been expecting. He was certain that Mr. Crouch had used the term "riddle" when explaining their next task.

So what did that mean? Perhaps that he was going to have to open something unpleasant or loud? That wouldn't be ideal. He hadn't thought to include his headset with the gear. He wasn't going to be talking to his team or to command during the tasks, but the noise cancellation feature might come in handy. Unfortunately, headsets had not been included in the equipment list aboard the ODCS satellite.

Or was the screech a trick? Did he need to endure the wretched sound for a certain amount of time before it would reveal the riddle? A dirty trick if that was the case. He'd bet money that no one would listen to it for any length of time unless it was getting down to crunch time. If that was the case, then by the time anyone got desperate enough to listen all the way through, they'd be low on time to prepare.

He made a mental note to try that sometime soon. He had plenty of time to solve the riddle, but he'd rather be early than late.

Brad listened to a few birds fluttering from branch to branch, chasing each other in the crisp air of a new day. It made him think of nests for a moment, which inevitably brought him back to the egg. He tried to picture it and realized he hadn't inspected it too thoroughly, inside or out.

Perhaps the riddle was printed somewhere on the egg. Most likely _in_ the egg, since it made such an obnoxious sound when you opened it. A trick to distract the champion while they tried to figure out the riddle.

He'd made it close to the castle when he heard a giggle from nearby that made him jump. He'd been so lost in thought about the egg that he'd let his guard down. He cursed himself for the lack of discipline and wrapped his fingers around the holstered sidearm he was carrying when he heard someone speaking in rapid French.

With a start, he realized he was actually only a few dozen feet from the Beauxbatons carriage. He was still staring at the carriage when a feminine voice from nearby asked.

"Are you looking for som'zing?" He turned to face her and she looked familiar. It was the girl Fleur was talking to a while back.

"You're Fleur's friend," Brad said, and she smiled. She didn't respond, however, and Brad realized that he hadn't answered her question. "No, I was just passing through."

"So, you weren't looking for anyone?" Brad had the distinct impression that she was talking about Fleur and had no intention of jumping into that conversation.

"No," he replied simply. "What's your name? I'm Brad." He didn't see any reason to use his rank, being about as outside the chain of command as he could currently be.

"I'm Clara." She stepped closer and he could see she was holding a silk robe tight over her shoulders and a damp towel. She extended a delicate hand and he shook it, surprised by how cold it was. He wondered if she was on the way back from meeting someone from the lake, perhaps a liaison with one of the Durmstrang boys. They stood there for a moment and she broke the silence. "She is different, you know?"

"Fleur?" Brad couldn't imagine who else she would be talking about, but he felt the need to clarify.

"Oui, part-veela. It makes boys act crazy around 'er." She nodded her head and smiled at some memory she had, probably of someone making a fool of themselves.

"I noticed that, actually." Brad was thinking about when Ron first saw her. Acting crazy was a polite way of putting it.

"I would be surprised if you didn't," she laughed, with maybe a hint of jealousy in it. "Yet, you never act like it." She cocked her head to the side, as though puzzling over it. Brad thought of the many, many instances where he almost _did._ She turned and began slowly walking toward the carriage.

"Well," he followed alongside her. "That wouldn't be becoming of an officer." It was a lame line, but the best he could come up with. What was he going to say? _She's_ super _attractive and I have no idea what to do with that._ How about no.

"She zought you volunteered for ze tournament to impress her." She said it as they reached the door to the carriage. He stopped in his tracks, surprised. Clara laughed lightly. "It wouldn't 'ave been ze first time someone did somezing crazy to impress her, and she was..." she searched for the right word. "Disappointed...when she zought you were like the ozzers."

"Is that so?" Brad's sudden adrenaline rush at realizing that she cared enough to have an opinion on him was embarrassing.

"Oui." Clara clearly enjoyed his response and he quickly pushed his rush of emotions aside, regaining control of himself. "Zank you for escorting me to ze carriage. It was chivalrous of you."

"Anytime," Brad said lamely. _Damn_ he sucked at talking to girls.

"I'll tell Fleur you stopped by." She winked at him as his eyes widened, but she didn't wait for a response. She opened the door and stepped inside. The inside of the carriage was well lit and looked like it had the space of a mansion crammed into it.

Brad turned back to the castle and started back at a jog. Suddenly, he wasn't so tired anymore.


	46. Got a Date?

AN - Blaze1992, I hadn't realized that the body should turn back to a human form after any length of time. To be honest, the demise of Rita Skeeter had been something of an impulse decision on my part as I wrote the chapter and I decided to go with it. Her death is not going to be a primary driving force for the story and I don't intend to explore that too much, sorry if that is disappointing to anyone. For what its worth, her bug body was on the newspaper that was tossed in the trash and trash at a FOB is burned. I think the reasonable assumption is that the body was incinerated before anyone saw anything.

saya4haji, thank you for you in depth review. It was really encouraging to see that some of the more subtle things I have been going for in the story are being portrayed the way I was hoping. I'm glad you're enjoying and I hope to keep delivering!

Since this is already a disgustingly long authors note, I am just going to take the quick opportunity to remind that this is an AU story, so at least _some_ of the changes being made are intentional, and the stuff that is really close to original content is because I didn't think it warranted changing in order to tell the story I'm trying to tell. Thank all of you for reading, enjoy!

* * *

Mike sat down next to Hermione. She'd been sitting on the edge of her bed since lunchtime and it had taken him a fair amount of time to hunt her down. She was staring at a pile of small socks she'd knitted for the house elves of Hogwarts, one of her more covert attempts to free them.

He remembered the trip they made to the kitchen. She'd been asking him for the location ever since they'd formed S.P.E.W. and he'd staunchly refused to reveal it. It hadn't been a particularly big issue between them, but she'd been frustrated.

The problem was that Mike was under orders not to reveal the location of the kitchen to anyone. While the kitchen was not a security threat, Filch, the caretaker, had been worried that students would constantly pester the elves for more food. The headmaster deferred to the judgment of his caretaker.

It had taken Hermione a long while to finally, slyly, get Fred Weasley to slip up and reveal his knowledge of the secret entrance. He'd immediately regretted it and Hermione, proud of her progress, had lead Mike to the kitchen.

She had made a heartfelt and passionate argument to the elves about why they should no longer accept their current working conditions. They should revolt, request sick leave and compensation, and...well that was about as far as she got before being pelted with a tomato by an angry elf. The irate elves shouted the two out of the kitchen.

Hermione had cried for a while that night and Mike just sat with her, not sure what to say. She was heartbroken, certain they'd been under centuries of brainwashing. She was probably right but Mike just wasn't sure if it was a big deal. They clearly didn't care. If anything, they seemed happy. Everyone deserved rights, but if the elves were happy living without them, should rights be forced onto them?

He wasn't sure he knew the answer to that question and so he didn't try to talk it out with her. He was sure of one thing, however. Hermione was the most empathetic person he knew and her heart was one of the most incredible, attractive things about her.

It hadn't all been for nothing, either. A half an hour after being chased from the kitchen, they were visited by a house elf that Harry, Ron and Hermione all recognized. They'd had a wonderful reunion with a house elf by the name of Dobby, who had apparently been befriended by Harry and his friends during their second year at Hogwarts. It made Mike wonder what other hijinks the three friends had gotten into before his arrival.

Dobby appeared to be the rare exception, a house elf that was concerned with serving others just as much as he was with freedom. That and spectacularly bad fashion. He wore mismatched, over-sized, hand-me-down clothes of a wide variety that he treated like the finest raiment that money could buy.

Mike, always one to seize the opportunity to make a friend, presented the elf with a pair of small multi-cam shooter's gloves and a S.P.E.W. patch. All it took was a little smart spellcraft on the part of Hermione and the gloves fit like they'd been custom made for the little elf. He would have thought the elf had died and gone to heaven.

After a long reunion, everyone got back to their routines. Hermione, inspired by a conversation among Reaper team about covert operations, devised a plan to leave knitted socks, mittens and hats around the school for the elves to pick up. She hoped to set free the careless elves that picked them up.

It was devious, especially for such a straight shooter as Hermione, and Mike couldn't figure out whether or not he thought the spectacular failure of her plan was good or bad. It had been bold, and Mike admired the hell out of her for it. But he knew the elves were passionate about their positions at Hogwarts and stripping a creature she cared about of their identity wouldn't be something easy to come back from.

He couldn't help but picture it in his mind via military synonym. She was leaving IEDs all over the school and the unsuspecting elf that picked one up carelessly would be stripped of their job, which was a huge percentage of their identity. He'd known a former Green Beret who'd lost his legs in an IED attack and couldn't help drawing the parallel. The man had been bitter about it and he worried that, should her plan work, she might get hunted down by a commando elf with an axe to grind.

Still, it saddened him to see her taking each battle lost so personally. She was fighting with all her heart and she felt each loss deeply. Even if the elves didn't appreciate her vigorous fight on their behalf, Mike could appreciate the warrior spirit she possessed.

He didn't have words to help her with, so instead he sat with her. He could at least make sure she knew she wasn't alone.

* * *

"So, you ask anyone yet?" Harry asked, panting. He was quick and threw a jab at Brad's head, but Brad was quicker. Brad smacked his arm aside and tried to knee Harry in the abdomen, but Harry had fallen for that trick too many times to be caught off guard so easily. As soon as Brad's foot left the ground, Harry hooked an arm around behind Brad's neck and pulled, throwing the operator off balance.

"Oof," Brad huffed as he hit the ground, Harry toppling onto him. It had been a good maneuver on Harry's part, but he'd been unprepared for the success and failed to capitalize on it. Brad on the other hand took the initiative, bucking his hips and rolling Harry off, catching one of his flailing limbs and placing him in an arm bar. Harry quickly tapped, signaling his surrender. "Nice try, you almost got me."

"Right," Harry said as Brad stood up. Brad offered him a hand and helped him back to his feet. "You never answered me."

"No," Brad admitted. "I haven't asked anyone."

"You'd better get on that, the dance is in a couple of weeks." They each grabbed a small towel, wiping sweat from their brows. Harry was a quick learner and had been getting a lot better. He was fast, too. Brad figured that once he was a little more confident and ready to seize opportunities that presented themselves, he'd be a _very_ formidable opponent.

"Yeah, it's my top priority," Brad chuckled. They both knew it wasn't. Brad was focused more on deciphering the contents of his golden egg than finding a partner for the coming Yule Ball on Christmas day.

"I'm just saying, you'll be the only champion _without_ a date." Harry and Brad headed out of their sparring room and stood in the corridor.

"I'm just saying, if I don't figure out the egg, my dating life might just be a moot point." He said it in a joking tone, but there was an edge of seriousness to it. They'd started the whole tournament off strong. If fighting dragons had been their idea of easing into things, he could only imagine what they'd stick him with next.

They parted ways, Harry off to the Gryffindor tower to clean up and Brad to the locker room. Brad had put off getting his kit cleaned fully and put back together. Brad didn't remember the last time he'd neglected cleaning his equipment for so long. He figured on showering, cleaning and restocking his kit, and then trying to tackle that riddle.

The walk down was more crowded than he'd anticipated. By this time last year the school had largely emptied out for the Christmas vacation. That wasn't the case this year, presumably due to the Yule Ball. He'd never seen so much angst concentrated in one place.

He'd actually had a tail on the way down to the locker room, a pair of girls giggling to themselves as they followed him. His silent prayers were answered when they opted not to follow him into the men's locker.

Inside, he found that he was alone. That suited him, as it would give him the freedom to think on his egg riddle. He'd taken the damned thing out to the wood-line and opened it up, leaving it that way for a full ten minutes before finally giving that avenue up.

While it was open he'd inspected the inside as thoroughly as he could. There were intricate, flowing carvings of some sort but no words that he could find. So that was a bust.

Brad turned on the hot water and let the shower stall heat up before stepping in. On impulse, he decided he might concentrate better if he brought the egg with him. After setting the egg on the small bench seat, he set about cleaning himself.

As he'd been taught, he started at the head and worked his way down, lost in thought about the riddle. It screeched when he opened it and time didn't seem to be a factor. It was golden and had a four-way seam that opened to reveal the interior, where he could see a wavy, flowing design but no words.

 _Some riddle…_ He picked a leg up to the bench to wash his foot and, in the haze of steam, had forgotten that the egg was sitting there. He kicked it off the edge and it clattered to the floor of the shower, popping open and emitting the screech.

He almost slipped as he dove forward to catch the egg, which was still sliding along the floor of the shower. He gripped it with soapy hands and it slipped from his fingers and he froze. He could have sworn he heard a voice within the screech, which he was noticing for the first time was not as loud as it had been.

"...sound….cannot….above….ground…...we've taken...you...miss...an hour…." His ears were straining against the harsh sounds and the muffled voices. He picked it up, noticing the hinges on the underside were bent. He forced it closed and the screeching song ceased. Brad opened his mouth, popping his jaw against the discomfort.

"What the fuck?" Brad muttered, looking at the now fractured egg. That sounded ominous. Something underground, and he'd have an hour to recover something they had taken. He tried opening it again and it resisted him. When he pulled harder, one of the sides broke off and the rest of it fell open. No sound at all. _Shit._ He broke it.

He finished rinsing off and headed back to the locker room, pondering the new development. His egg had hit the ground and that made it so he could hear part of it. Or was it the soapy water that did it? Did it matter? It was broken now, so that hint was as good as it was going to get for him. Not wanting to risk misremembering the words he quickly scribbled down what he'd heard.

Now he had more information to go on. An hour to recover something while underground. He could only hope that meant a dungeon or something. He wasn't going to be able to transform into a bug or anything.

He put on his uniform and headed quickly to the armory, where he began pulling out his gear. He looked at the scuffed helmet, a mark on the back where it struck a rock while he fought the dragon. Mounted on the front, his GPNVG-18 night vision device. He was suddenly very glad he'd included them in the loadout.

The HK416 he carried had a Surefire flashlight attachment but the night vision device wouldn't give his position away. If he was going to be crawling around in the dark for an hour, he might have an advantage. Being able to see in the dark was a primary component of U.S. military supremacy, and the resolution on these newer devices made life a lot easier.

He pulled out his plate carrier and looked at the ragged hole in the front. It was only about three centimeters in diameter and everything else on the vest looked good. The pouches were all in working condition and the slots for his plates were fine, aside from the hole. He slid another ceramic plate in the front of the vest, deciding not to replace the entire thing. He kind of liked the hole, it gave the vest some character.

Brad spent the next couple hours pulling out equipment, checking batteries and ammunition counts, cleaning the rifle and handgun, and finally replenishing the ammunition and ordinance he'd used. He put everything back into his locker and was satisfied that he'd be ready come time for the next challenge.

* * *

Minister Fudge made a vain attempt to adjust himself behind his desk. He was expecting Barnabas Cuffe, the editor and leading force behind the Daily Prophet. Barnabas had been told to arrive after lunch and Fudge had overindulged a little. Now he was feeling especially bloated and uncomfortable.

It had been a particularly stressful time lately and that stress had started taking its toll at home. His wife, bless her heart, insisted on making food when she was upset and, not one to let good food go to waste, he'd been gaining kilos at a steady pace.

The door burst open and Fudge almost knocked over a vial of ink in surprise.

"Good heavens, Martha!" he exclaimed, snatching the ink up before too much of it could spill out. "Knock or something, you don't need to be in such a rush."

"Yes, sir, of course," she said, not looking at him. Her cheeks were flushed and she gestured into the hall. Barnabas Cuffe entered the room, giving the secretary a wide berth. As he took a seat, she turned and started quickly down the hall. Fudge sighed.

"The door, Martha," he muttered under his breath. On cue, she stopped in her tracks and headed back, grabbing the door handle.

"Oh, sorry, the door!" She pulled it closed, a little to quickly. Fudge and Mr. Caffe jumped as the door slammed shut.

"She's an interesting one," Barnabas said as the Minister gently shook his head.

"She's murder on the nerves, let me tell you." Fudge took one last moment to pull himself together and sat up. "Thank you for meeting with me, Barnabas."

"Of course, Minister." The man bowed his head slightly. He'd always been a power chaser, but that suited Fudge just fine. It made him predictable, and that was a valuable thing, so long as Fudge was doing the predicting.

"So, any word on her?" Fudge decided to get to the crux of the meeting early. His bowels were complaining and he hoped to have this get-together complete before anything embarrassing occurred.

"None whatsoever," he replied, shaking his head. "Rita is missing."

"And the last time she was seen was being arrested by the muggle soldiers?" Fudge asked hopefully. He'd been looking for different ways to get the blasted soldiers out of England without upsetting the International Confederation of Wizards. Somehow, some way, they'd managed to fall _into_ favor with many of the ICW nations. France was even rumored to be looking into their own Ansible program. It was all too much.

"No." Caffe didn't seem to take any pleasure in delivering the news. Fudge had expressed his desire to turn public support away from Task Force Ansible, and the editor of the Daily Prophet had been all too happy to oblige. Being in favor with the Minister had its perks, after all. "Many people in Hogsmeade said they saw her leave town on her own. Nothing after that."

"Hmm," Fudge said. It wasn't what he was hoping to hear. If he tried to blame TFA for it, then others stepping forward with the truth would complicate things. Hardly worth it. "Well, we'll need another reporter to work on the Triwizard Tournament. Someone trustworthy."

"I'll have someone sent right away," Barnabas replied, already plotting about what Fudge could do to pay him back.

* * *

Harry, finished with his bath, headed to the Great Hall. He'd spent more time than he'd intended to in the bath, relaxing his sore muscles. His sparring sessions with Brad were rough but worth it. They weren't doing it as often as they had last year, but now that he had the basics down, each time had been much more intense.

Brad was going all out in their fights and Harry was actually holding his own, for the most part. He certainly wasn't a special forces operator, but he felt confident he could take on the likes of Malfoy.

Thinking of Malfoy made him smile. The morning after Hermione was released from the infirmary he was walking with a decided limp and looked fairly pained. More than one person asked about it and Malfoy refused flatly to talk about it.

That wasn't all though. Malfoy had bumped into Harry, Hermione and Mike all walking in one of the third floor corridors between classes. He didn't say a word, no acknowledgment that they were around at all. Usually he couldn't wait to make trouble. Harry had his suspicions, but wasn't going to pry for details. He'd just enjoy the peace of mind for a while.

Harry became aware of...something...and it pulled him from his thoughts. He couldn't explain it, but his gut told him he was unsafe. Brad had told him, more than once, that every good soldier listened to their gut.

So, without knowing why, Harry yanked his wand from his robes and ducked into a small alcove in the corridor. As he did so, he saw a streak of red sling past him, right where his head had been a minute ago. He didn't hear anyone say anything which meant they were using nonverbal spells, which meant they were advanced.

Harry remembered something else Brad had taught him. The winner of a fight is almost always the one who takes the initiative. He took a deep breath and ducked his head and wand arm out, swinging it in a small circle.

" _Turbinis_!" he shouted, seeing someone in the shadows down the hall. He ducked back into the alcove as a blast of blue light shot past him. His spell did its work, however, causing a small tornado to form in the hallway. Rugs, parts from the suits of armor, wreaths, Christmas decorations, and several rather upset paintings all began to swirl around the hall, providing Harry cover to run. It was a trick taught to him by Professor Moody and he was impressed by the maelstrom.

Harry bolted the opposite direction, so focused on getting to the next door that he didn't hear the clattering of everything in his windstorm as it all hit the ground. He felt an impact in the small of his back and suddenly was covered from neck to ankles in thick ropes. He fell forward, smacking his face on the floor.

It took a few moments of him laying there, struggling but helpless, before he heard familiar footsteps behind him. A rhythmic thump every other step. Harry let his head drop to the floor, recognizing what this was.

"I'm impressed, boy!" Professor Moody called out as he neared. The ropes suddenly slackened and Harry pushed himself up. "I didn't think you'd've mastered that spell so quick."

"Not good enough," he said sullenly. He'd been taking extra Defense Against the Dark Arts classes with the professor, who had a pathological habit of trying to beat 'constant vigilance' into him. He shouldn't have been surprised that the professor would try to ambush him.

"No, not good enough," Moody said gruffly, grabbing Harry's shoulder with a firm grip. "But a darn sight better than most. Now, let's clean this up." Moody waved his wand and the suits of armor began picking themselves back up and hanging the portraits back where they belong. Before long, everything was back to the way it should be.

"So, how'd you know?" the professor asked once everything was put back together.

"Captain Gordon told me to listen to my gut. I don't know what it was, but..." Harry paused, still unsure of why he knew something was happening.

"Smart man," Moody said. "You keep it up and you'll be a formidable opponent in no time."

Harry smiled at the uncommon compliment. Moody was a something of a harsh teacher. He wasn't big on coddling people, which made his praise seem all the more important.

"Come on," Moody guided Harry down the hall. "Let's get some food."

* * *

Brad chewed the inside of his lip, watching another gaggle of girls enter the Great Hall for lunch. They were all from Ravenclaw and they quickly sat down. His eyes already in that direction, he looked at the table of students from Beauxbatons. Clara was looking at him. She said something that caused Fleur to look his way. He gave her a smile and looked back to his food.

"You have to ask _someone,_ " Harry quipped. Ron smiled and Brad grunted.

"I don't see you two courting anyone." He took a large bite of his food. Truth be told it just didn't feel important to him. It wasn't for a lack of trying on the parts of others. Professor McGonagall had, on more than one occasion, informed him he needed to get a date for the dance because he would be opening it with the other champions.

He'd been asked by several girls and said no to every one of them. He did his best to let them down gently, but he was firm with it. He wasn't sure why he was bucking against it so much, but it all felt superficial.

He was fighting for his life in a tournament that he was ill-equipped for at best. Someone was gunning for Harry, and now him, and what, he was supposed to ask a girl to dance with him like none of that was going on? _Bullshit_.

Brad preferred to spend his time training and working to stay alive. What was the point of spending any of his time learning how to dance and trying to court someone, knowing that once the deployment was up he'd never see her again, it felt pointless. Nothing good would come out of it anyway.

He'd either go to a dance with someone he didn't care to spend time with, in which case it was a waste of time, or he'd go with someone he did develop feelings for only to leave and never see her again. Avoidable grief.

"Well, you don't have to get mean about it," Ron said sullenly, though Brad suspected he was overplaying it a bit. Ron and Harry had been just as reluctant as he was to ask someone to the ball.

There was a little commotion at the Ravenclaw table and Brad turned to see Roger Davies, the captain of their Quidditch team and one of their more popular students, had stood up and headed to the Beauxbatons table. Brad felt his heart sink a little as he stopped to talk to Fleur.

"Would you go to the dance with me?" He was bold in asking her so publicly. Clara, sitting next to Fleur, gave the boy an appraising look and clearly disapproved. Fleur didn't answer straight away, but eventually she _did_ answer.

"Oui," she said, flashing him a dazzling smile. He smiled back, clearly excited. It was just as clear that he didn't know what to do next. He gave a little half bow and mumbled something that Brad couldn't hear before returning to his seat, his many friends slapping his back in congratulations.

Brad watched Clara and Fleur argue for a minute in French. It amused him how expressive they were. The faces they made while talking and listening told the story that he wouldn't have otherwise understood. Clara was _not_ happy about Fleur going with Roger Davies.

At the end of it all, he just told himself again that he didn't want to go to the damned dance anyway.


	47. The Yule Ball

AN - Apologies for the delay getting this out to you fine folks. Thank you for your thoughtful comments and I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

Brad tried to make sense of the shifting, shadowy creature that was moving down the entrance hall. He needed to catch up to it, it was important. He couldn't remember why, but letting...whatever it was...escape, that wasn't an option.

"Hold up!" he shouted, jogging after it. The hall seemed to stretch and it took him forever to reach the corner that his objective had turned around. He saw the tail end of the cloak as it rounded the corner of a tent. Bringing his rifle to low-ready, he looked around himself.

All around him was a maze of tents, many of them burning and billowing thick smoke. He heard a soft cry and looked up to the source. A toddler spinning in the sky. _Motherfucker_. The adrenaline spike was almost painful and he rushed forward, rounding the tent so he would be directly beneath the child. Yet, when he looked up, the child was still too far away.

"Why aren't you helping me?" The weeping child's voice sounded like it was right in his ear and it chilled him to the core.

"I'm trying!" Brad shouted. He ran through tents, glancing up. Every time he thought he was closer the spinning child was further away. "I'm coming!"

He burst out into an opening and there was a lone figure in a chrome mask standing underneath the helpless kid, his wand pointing straight up. Brad shouldered the rifle, aiming for center of mass.

"You can't save him," a gruff voice whispered in his ear. He glanced sideways. It was Professor Moody, only something was wrong. His dark face was twisted...evil.

"Bullshit," Brad muttered. He turned back to the sight and the Death Eater was standing directly in front of him now. Brad pulled the trigger. _Click._ The magazine was empty.

"HE'S MINE!" Moody roared in his ear. Brad looked up at the child, who was falling down toward him. Brad dropped his rifle, raising his arms in an attempt to catch the falling boy, who screamed at him in fright.

Brad bolted upright at the shout, yanking the handgun from beneath his pillow and looking around him for a target. Harry was sitting up as well, a small figure on his lap.

"Dobby!" Harry shouted, exasperated.

"I'm sorry if I scared the young master!" the elf squeaked. Brad let his head hang for a moment, sliding the handgun back under the pillow. His hands were shaking with the rush of adrenaline as he rubbed his face, trying to erase the images that his mind had conjured for him in the night.

He slid out of bed as Dobby practically begged to give Harry his present. That was right, today was Christmas. Harry unwrapped a pair of socks, one green and the other red. There were crude figures of broomsticks and golden snitches printed across them.

"Thanks, Dobby!" Harry said, pulling the socks on.

"I've been working on them for a while, spending my work earnings!" Dobby was obviously proud of earning money for himself. Brad mused that Hermione would be proud, too.

"Let's head down to the common room!" Seamus called out, jumping down the stairs. Ron and Harry both gave Dobby a pair of socks and a sweater, which Dobby clutched onto like treasure.

"I have to go," Dobby said sadly as everyone else was getting ready to head downstairs. "We're already getting started on cooking tonight's feast." With one last satisfied look at the custom socks on Harry's feet, Dobby disappeared with a soft _crack._

"Easy to please, that one," Ron pointed out as everyone shuffled downstairs. Brad stayed quiet. He was still having a hard time shaking the dream and he didn't want to call attention to himself.

Downstairs, Hermione was holding her hair up as Mike fastened a small, glinting necklace. Her cheeks were red as she smiled widely. Brad propped himself against a wall, watching as gifts were exchanged. Gradually, the scene pulled him from his thoughts and he found himself smiling along with everyone else.

"It snowed last night, you know?" Angelina Johnson said. "I saw it out the window."

"We ought to head outside!" someone else called out. It wasn't long before everyone agreed that they shouldn't remain cooped up inside.

"It'd be a shame to waste such a fine example of a Christmas morning," Brad agreed. He was feeling a lot better about the morning now and didn't intend to waste the day thinking about bad dreams. He pulled his multi-cam coat on and once everyone was suitably dressed, headed outside with the crowd.

"You were quiet this morning," Harry said. He was walking alongside Brad near the rear of the Gryffindor exodus. Hermione and Mike were leading the group, walking arm in arm.

"Just a dream," Brad admitted, seeing no reason to lie. Not eager to reopen that particular can of worms, he quickly followed it up with, "Nothing a little snow can't fix right up."

Outside the grounds were white in largely undisturbed snow. There were small paths leading to the Beauxbatons carriage and the Durmstrang vessel, along with a perimeter path from one of the roving patrols. Aside from that, no one had been out yet.

The group meandered out into the snow, breaking into smaller groups of friends. He and Harry walked together a short distance, letting the others get ahead of them. They didn't say anything in particular, just walked. Brad was just about to open his mouth to ask how comfortable those socks were when a snowball pelted him in the back of the head. He whirled back to see Mike trudging away in high steps as he tried not to trip over stones and branches that were obscured by the snow, laughing hysterically.

"Oh, you're on!" Brad called out. He stooped down, grabbing a fistful of snow and compacting it down. He threw the snowball hard and pegged Mike square in the back. Mike, who had just reached Hermione, threw his arms up dramatically and fell forward and rolled to his back.

"I'm hit!" he called out. Hermione giggled and Mike held a shaking hand up to her. She grabbed it and knelt by his side. "Tell my girl I fought hard," he said weakly. She rolled her eyes and laughed as another snowball caught Mike in the face, this time launched by Jason.

Mike sat upright quickly, shaking the snow from his face. "That's it!" he cried out. "It's war!" Hermione helped him up and they both began gathering snow, as did everyone around them.

Brad watched the scene for a moment as snowballs began to fly from every direction. He saw heads poking out of the Beauxbatons carriage, no doubt curious about the commotion.

Another snowball hit Brad, this time in the shoulder. It knocked him out of his thoughts and he grabbed more snow to join the fight.

Soon, boys and girls from the Beauxbatons cabin were darting out, joining the fight. Brad and Harry were running toward one of the small walls of snow that had been hastily built for cover. They dove behind it and Brad caught a face full of snow.

"Mon Dieu," a familiar voice said softly. "Are you alright?" Brad picked his face out of the snow, seeing Fleur and Clara were also hiding behind the wall.

"I'm good," he said, pushing himself up and crouching behind the wall. "Merry Christmas." He pulled up another fistful of snow, packing it into a ball.

"They're coming!" Harry said as he ducked back under cover as a snowball whipped past. Mike and Hermione had turned out to be quite a combination in the heat of battle and were chasing Brad and Harry across the battlefield.

"We pop out on three and hit em," Brad said, quickly gathering more snow for his munitions. He glanced at Fleur and Clara and smiled when he saw them joining him in defense of the little fortification. "One, two, _three!"_

The four of them popped out of cover just in time to see Mike jump in front of Hermione to take the hits. Hermione was waving her wand behind him and Brad's jaw dropped as what had to be twenty balls of snow lifted from the ground and darted at them.

They dove for the cover of their snow wall, but Harry and Clara were too late. They hesitated and were peppered with the snowballs, which turned out to be much softer than they looked. The four of them laughed and Brad poked his head from cover.

"Magic isn't fair fighting!" he called out, gathering more snow for the coming fight.

"All's fair in love and war, brother!" Mike replied.

The battle continued well into the evening, rife with betrayal and team switching. Brad hadn't had that much fun in a very long time. Soon, though, the girls were all disappearing. It wasn't long before Hermione had left the battle as well, saying she needed to ready herself for the ball. As more and more people disappeared, the battle fished, everyone feeling like the victor.

Brad was sitting on a small log with Harry and Mike when he saw Colonel Sumner in full dress uniform walking toward the castle.

"Be right back," he said, darting after the colonel. "Colonel!" he called out as he closed the distance. Sumner stopped and turned, allowing the operator to catch up.

"Captain," Sumner acknowledged Brad as he arrived.

"Sir, I was wondering if there were any patrols or anything you need me for tonight," Brad said.

"You're otherwise engaged," Sumner replied, looking directly at Brad.

"It's just a dance, sir. They can spare me." It sounded lamer out loud than he'd thought it would.

"What is your current assignment, Captain?" Sumner asked. Brad hesitated to answer, feeling like this was a trap. He couldn't stall forever though.

"I'm assigned to compete as a Triwizard champion, sir," Brad answered.

"Then I expect you to fulfill your duties to the fullest extent of your ability, Captain. Is that clear?" Sumner didn't wait for an answer, turning and heading inside. So much for getting out of the dance. He wasn't looking forward to opening a dance, nor was he looking forward to being the fool that showed up without a date. With a huff of exasperation, Brad headed to the Gryffindor common room, where his Class A uniform was waiting.

* * *

Brad chewed the inside of his lip uncomfortably, standing in a room just off of the entrance hall with most of the other champions and their dates. His Class A uniform was a bit stiff, having never been worn before now. It was in top shape, the buttons were mirror shiny and his very few ribbons were in a neat row just where they should be. You didn't get many citations in a unit that didn't exist.

Victor Krum was standing with his date, a girl from Hufflepuff that Brad had seen before but didn't know by name. He thought it started with an H. They both talked softly together about something while Cedric Diggory's date, Cho Chang, made some final adjustments to his dress robes. Brad only knew her from talking to Harry, who he suspected had a crush on her.

Fleur and Roger Davies hadn't shown up yet. Brad's mind kept wandering to what they could be up to and he quickly had to remind himself that he didn't care. It wasn't his business.

Time passed slowly as he waited until, finally, he heard the clicking of shoes on the hall floor outside getting louder as someone approached. The door opened and in walked Professor McGonagall. She was dressed in red tartan robes with her hair done up. Still, dressed as she was for a night of dancing, she managed to look both concerned and mildly irritated at the same time. He was still wondering how she pulled that off when she spoke.

"We seem to be missing some people," she observed. "Captain, where is your date?"

"Ma'am, I don't have one." What else was there to say about it?

"Surely someone told you that the champions are opening the ball with a dance." She knew full well that someone had told him, because that someone had been her.

"Yes ma'am, I am aware," Brad replied.

"Well, are you certain there is _no one?_ " she asked him, raising an eyebrow. One final chance to wrangle himself a date. But how the hell was he going to do that?

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Very well," she flattened her robes. "I will open the ball with you." Brad closed his eyes a moment, silently cursing himself for not taking his myriad of opportunities to try and get a date. Suddenly it didn't seem as big a deal, not compared to an opening dance with...well, an old lady. The teams were going to get a kick out of that.

The door opened again and Fleur slipped in alone, looking distressed, which he didn't like. She looked gorgeous and he hated to see her in distress of any kind. She was wearing a silken, silver-gray dress that hugged her body, managing to be seductive and modest all at once, with an almost glowing blue trim. Her silvery hair was done up in an elegant bun at the back of her head, held in place by what looked like ice sickles, though they weren't melting. She wore a thin, delicate necklace that drew his attention to her beautiful neck, which until this point was not something he'd ever considered a point of beauty.

"Bon sang," she muttered, her cheeks flushed as she looked at McGonagall. She handed a paper to the professor, who took it and read it down her nose.

"Mr. Davies has decided not to join us, it seems," she said tightly. Brad wondered what in the heck he could be thinking. She crossed her arms and it gave Brad a view of the note.

 _I don't know what I was thinking, I can't even dance. Have fun, Roger_

His first thought was that Roger was a pansy, chickening out on Fleur because he couldn't dance. With a start, he realized that's almost exactly what _he himself_ had just done. Brad had never danced before and he'd spent this whole time trying to get out of it instead of preparing himself for it.

"Well, that settles that. Since you, Fleur, no longer have a date and the Captain here never got one, you two will go together." Brad was pulled from his thoughts headlong by her words. She pushed them together and Fleur slipped her arm into Brad's. He hoped she couldn't hear his heart trying to rip its way out of his chest as he caught her unique, pleasant, scent.

They stood there, arm in arm behind the two other couples for a moment as Professor McGonagall instructed them on when to head out. "You did not get a date?" she asked him quietly, turning to look at him questioningly.

"I didn't try to, no," Brad admitted. He shrugged his shoulders. "Chickened out, I guess." He figured it was better to own his mistakes, that way they didn't hold a power over him.

"I see," she replied. Brad had a thought just then and decided to act on it rather than continue his pattern of hesitation. He turned to face her, momentarily pausing as he took in her beauty once again. She released his arm and began to fidget with her fingers, looking at him with a confused look.

"Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?" he asked. A half-smile formed on her lips. She tilted her head to the side with a playful smile that he'd stare into forever if she let him.

"You're not a chicken anymore?" she asked, still smiling and twirling her fingers. Brad almost didn't answer her, lost in the scene. He quickly found his way back though.

"Not anymore," he matched her smile. "Will you be my date?" he asked again, almost stumbling on the word date. She reached out and grabbed his hand, her fingers warm and soft, and pulled him a little closer. As she wrapped her arm in his and they resumed their positions, side by side, she replied.

"Oui," she said. "I would love to." Brad smiled. It was then that the doors opened. Cedric and Cho began walking, followed after a few moments by Krum and his date, whose name he still couldn't remember. They waited a few beats and began walking.

In the back of his mind, his old thoughts resumed. About deployment schedules and the potential for heartache. Those thoughts were quickly overwhelmed by the excitement he felt while Fleur held his arm and they walked into the Great Hall.

It had been redecorated for the ball. The walls were coated in a layer of frost, though the room felt plenty warm, and the large tables were gone, having been replaced by lantern-lit circular tables scattered around the perimeter of the Great Hall. The center of the large room was wide open, undoubtedly the dance floor.

They walked out and onto the dance floor, a sense of foreboding beginning to flood Brad. He was thrilled to be here with Fleur, he couldn't deny that from himself. He was, however, beginning to understand what Roger Davies had been thinking. Brad hadn't danced a day in his life and here he was with this stunning, amazing woman. He was going to embarrass the hell out of himself.

Cedric and Cho reached the center of the dance floor first and turned to face each other. Then Krum and What's-Her-Face. Much before he was ready for it, they arrived too.

Fleur let her arm slip away from his and she turned to face him. He followed suit and saw her deep blue eyes appraising his uniform, before she looked up into his eyes.

"You look stunning," he said, having already appreciated the view. She smiled widely, showing a row of perfect teeth and he couldn't help but smile back. She held a hand up and he felt her pluck at the row of ribbons on his chest before her other hand came to rest on his waist.

"And you are very 'andsome," she replied. It made his heart skip a beat. She raised an eyebrow and he realized he still hadn't taken hold of her.

He hesitated only a moment longer, then placed a hand on her hip, the other in her open hand. Touching her was electric and even though he had no idea how to dance, he knew he was going to figure it the hell out. Letting her down was _not_ an option.

Music started and Brad stepped to the side with her. She allowed herself to be lead as he stepped from one side to another, turning gently in smooth circles with her. He made sure his hand stayed planted on her hip and didn't go anywhere else. He didn't want her to think he was getting any ideas.

As the music got quicker and he felt bolder he started to feel like he'd mastered this simple dance. He released her hip and raised her hand above her head, leading her in a twirl and catching her. She was beaming when he caught her and they resumed their simple dance, albeit at a slightly quicker pace.

While they danced, other couples joined them on the dance floor. While everyone enjoyed themselves, there was a subtle change, a scarcely researched effect of Veela nature, that went unnoticed by Brad and Fleur, consumed as they were in their own little world. The couples dancing around them were just a little more energetic, enjoyed themselves just a little more, than those dancing elsewhere.

And for those who didn't dance but watched, they inevitably found themselves drawn to the scene of Brad and Fleur, who graduated into more twirls and spins as they gained confidence and familiarity. There was an unmistakable, pure joy on both of their faces that others found infectious.

* * *

Mike looked down at his watch. The dancing had started a couple of minutes prior and Mike had been stunned to see his temporarily-former commander dancing with that hot French girl. He felt like he knew Brad pretty damn well and he'd been _certain_ that the guy had no idea how to dance and no motivation to change that. He was glad for it though, they appeared to be enjoying themselves.

He was, on the other hand, stressing out. Last he'd heard, Hermione was in the girls' dormitory getting ready. Angelina came down the stairs with a conspiratorial look and told him to wait for her in the Great Hall, that she'd be down any moment.

Well, here he was and so far there had been no sign of his girlfriend. She'd been up there for hours getting ready and he was starting to wonder if he needed to go check on her. Another glance at the entrance hall as someone entered. Another girl who appeared dateless. _Where the hell was she?_

He took a few steps toward the Entrance Hall, his mind made up to go check on her, when someone caught his hand. He shot a look behind him, seeing the girl that had just entered. His mouth opened but the words were lost on him. _It was_ Hermione!

"Hey, soldier," she said, smiling. Her hair, which she normally allowed to remain bushy, was sleek and wrapped in an intricate bun. She was wearing a powder blue dress that accentuated her hips and she was wearing the necklace he'd given her this morning. The biggest thing was that she had a wonderfully confident look in her eye, as though she knew she was the prize of this ball.

"Hey, yourself," he grinned, his eyes taking in the beauty before him. That was as much reaction as he could muster for the moment, his mind still trying to process the tremendous beauty of his girlfriend.

"What do you think?" She twirled, the dress lifting away from her knees and wrapping back around her legs as she came to a sudden stop, facing him with a confident grin.

"I don't know where to start," Mike replied honestly. His eyes said it all, though. She'd become adept at reading people, in addition to books. In his eyes she could see everything he didn't have words for and it was exactly the reaction she'd been daydreaming of. He grabbed her hands, pulling her close for a deep kiss. "You look amazing," he whispered as their lips broke contact.

"Jeezus," Jason's voice called from behind him, and he felt a smack against his shoulder. "Keep it PG you guys." Jason smiled at Hermione. "You look nice. Have fun you two." Jason headed off. He was helping with chaperone duty.

"Right," Hermione laughed, her cheeks flushed. She grabbed Mike's hand and pulled him toward the dance floor.

* * *

Brad looked over as Mike sat heavily next to him. He'd been sitting at one of the empty tables near the professor's area, watching the dance floor. Fleur had gone to "freshen up." Not a term he was familiar with, but he'd noticed that a number of girls had left their dates and come back, so he figured it wasn't something to be concerned with.

"Hot damn, bro," Mike said, giving Brad a mischievous look. "You scare her off or something?"

"You're one to talk," Brad replied, pointing out that Hermione was missing as well.

"She's just freshening up, you know?" Mike sat back against the chair stretching.

"What does that even mean?" Brad asked, genuinely curious. Mike bolted forward in his chair, looking at Brad seriously.

"I have no idea!" he said. They were both quiet for a moment, then laughed. "Women are so confusing."

"Four o'clock, they've made friends," Brad muttered, and their conversation about the perplexing nature of women was forgotten. Hermione and Fleur were walking together, smiling and talking together excitedly.

"Ladies," Mike said as they arrived at the table. He pulled a chair out for Hermione to sit in and Brad did the same for Fleur.

They ordered food, Hermione evidently the only one of the four who had paid attention when they were informed that they needed to speak to the plate about their desired meal. Hermione ordered something resembling a light thanksgiving meal while Mike didn't hesitate to order a thick burger and fries. Fleur ordered a French meal that Brad had never heard of before and Brad went simple; steak and potatoes.

The food was incredible and everyone tried everyone else's. Mike's french fries were a hit, seasoned as they were with a godly blend of herbs. Fleur had fun explaining that fries were not French. It seemed all too soon when the Great Hall began emptying. A glance at his watch revealed that it was very rapidly approaching midnight.

They stayed for a few minutes more, enjoying lighthearted conversation with one another. Knowing that all good things must end, however, they stood up and departed. Fleur and Brad broke off from Mike and Hermione, with Brad insisting that he would escort Fleur to her carriage.

As they stepped out of the Entrance Hall and onto the grounds, Fleur shivered slightly. The night had become cold. Brad quickly shucked his coat off, placing it around Fleur's shoulders.

"Thank you," she said, pulling the ends closer together as she smiled. They walked side by side for a few moments.

"I had a lot of fun tonight," Brad said. He hadn't planned on the ball being fun, but he'd enjoyed every minute of it.

"Me too," Fleur replied. "Thank you for asking me." They both laughed lightly.

"Better late than never." They walked silently, comfortably, for a few more moments until they reached the carriage.

"Thank you for a wonderful night." She gave his coat back and kissed him on the cheek, quickly turning into the carriage. Brad stood there for a few moments in the dark, unmoving. His cheek tingled pleasantly where her soft lips had met him and he smiled. It had been a _damn_ good night.


	48. Not as it Seems

AN – I have seen this done before in other stories and liked it. Dialogue that is italic (for example, " _talking about_ stuff") is in a foreign language understood by the speaker. The most obvious example being that if things are from Fleur's perspective and she is speaking French to someone, it will be italic. English-only characters cannot understand what she is saying or hearing, but she and other French speakers can. Thank you all for reading and enjoy!

* * *

Brad sat down in the FOB Phoenix interrogation room. He'd been waiting for the last half an hour and still had no idea why. It would be putting it gently to say he had been _summoned_ from the castle. He was walking to the armory for another attempt at repairing his egg when he was cornered by four MPs from the FOB, who told him in no uncertain terms that he was coming with them, _now_.

So, here he sat, with no idea what was going on. Only a general impression that whatever it was, it wasn't good. He'd been on the opposite side of the interrogation chair before. He looked to his wrists and felt thankful that he wasn't cuffed. That, at least, was going in his favor.

Finally, the door opened. Colonel Sumner entered followed by a thin man in official looking robes. The badge on his chest read DMLE. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Brad was familiar with the term, though that was the extent of what he knew about them.

"Captain," Colonel Sumner said formally, "this is Detective Oliver Noah of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He's here investigating the disappearance of a reporter, Rita Skeeter. I expect you to cooperate fully." The introduction out of the way, Colonel Sumner propped himself against the wall, crossing his arms to watch the interrogation take place.

"You're Captain Bradley Gordon?" the detective asked. Brad raised an eyebrow. After getting no response from the detective, he answered.

"Yes, sir," Brad replied coolly. The detective smiled and took a seat across the table from Brad. It was the smile of a man who thought he knew something.

"Where is Rita Skeeter?" The detective stared straight into Brad's eyes, waiting for an answer.

"I have no idea, sir," Brad answered, glancing at the colonel. Sumner made no response.

"Did you or did you not tell Rita that you quote 'hurt people for a living' while she interviewed you?" Detective Noah asked, an assured grin on his face.

"Yes, sir, I did," Brad replied, cursing himself and that pervert cameraman, the only other person that had been in earshot when he'd said it. The detectives grin turned to a frown. He apparently hadn't anticipated Brad to readily admit the truth. "She was threatening me with slander."

"Captain," Colonel Sumner closed the distance in a flash, slamming his hands down on the table. "I could have you tried for Article 133 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice!" The detective jumped at the outburst, but appeared satisfied to have the back-up.

"Sir, yes, sir," Brad stared straight ahead. The detective smiled again as Sumner stood, looming over the captain.

"Where is Rita Skeeter?" the detective asked, this time more forcefully.

"I have no idea, sir." The detective didn't seem pleased by Brad's response.

"Did you kill her or order her killed?"

"Absolutely not, sir," Brad replied instantly.

"Captain Gordon, under the code of UCMJ 134-19 I swear to God I will reign hellfire on you if you are lying to this man, so answer the damned question!" The colonel was in Brad's face by the last word.

"Sir," Brad replied coolly, "I have not seen Rita since she confronted me in the street."

"And what happened then?" The detective asked.

"She was detained for disturbance of peace," Colonel Sumner replied, still eyeing Captain Gordon harshly. He turned to the detective, "As I said before, I instructed her on the regulations regarding reporters on Hogwarts grounds and released her."

"Yes, I see." The detective seemed to see anything _but_ what Colonel Sumner had explained, but he had no evidence to prove TFA was responsible for the disappearance, so he kept quiet. "I'll contact you again, should I have more questions."

"I'd be happy to answer them for you, sir," Brad replied.

"Of course you would," the detective smiled ruefully, then stood and left.

"So, did we disappear someone?" Brad asked as soon as the door latched closed.

"No," Sumner replied. "MACUSA sent me word that an investigator was coming, about ten minutes before the man showed up. Apparently Rita is missing and the suspicion falls on us. Sorry to throw you under the bus like that." The colonel was getting better at the political side of the job. "No way to let you know without tipping them off that we knew."

"I understand, sir," Brad replied. There had been no time to get a warning out. It begged the question, though. Where had that literary terrorist gone?

"Back to your duties, Captain," Sumner replied. Brad stood, saluted his CO, and left.

* * *

As Brad made it back to the castle, he saw someone he hadn't seen for a while. Draco Malfoy had just been heading outside the castle when he saw Brad on his way up. Conspicuously, Draco turned and quickly walked back into the castle. It had been a while since Brad had to deal with that little douche bag, and he wondered why.

His mind quickly returned to thoughts of the second task. He needed to figure out where in the hell there might be caves in the area. Or dungeons perhaps.

He'd tried opening the egg again and nothing happened. The small, circular dome at the bottom was cracked open and one of the wings of the egg remained separate from the rest of it. Clearly he wasn't getting any more information from it.

He thought back on it. The screeching, singing voice mentioned being underground. And he'd only heard something while he was in the shower. He wondered if the steam had anything to do with it. Underground and steamy. The first thing that came to mind was a cave. Caves could be humid, right?

After idly walking upstairs he made it to the Gryffindor common room. Inside, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were working on homework. Well, a more accurate way to put it was that Harry and Ron were working on homework and Hermione was offering tips and pointers, having long ago completed the homework assigned during their Christmas break. With only tonight to finish the papers, they had their work cut out for them.

He sat down across from Hermione and regarded her for a moment. She carried herself much differently than she used to. No longer was she the nervous brainiac with poor social skills. She was much more at ease around people and significantly more assertive. Mike had been a good influence on her.

"Hermione," Brad got her attention. When she looked up from the boys' homework, he continued. "What do you know about caves in this area?"

"Caves?" Hermione asked, looking genuinely confused. "I don't know that there are any..." she trailed off.

"What about cave dwelling creatures? You know of anything like that?" Brad asked. She cocked her head to the side in wonder.

"Well," she started, deciding to answer him before asking her own questions, "the Tatzelwurm comes to mind. Kind of a mixture of a dragon and a large cat, with spikes."

"That...sounds wonderful. Can they talk or sing?" Brad asked, imagining trying to fight a cat-dragon while he attempted to fit what she was saying into his clues. She giggled a little.

"Erm, no, they can't. Why do you ask?" Her curiosity had finally gotten the better of her.

"I'm trying to make sense of the clue in my egg," Brad admitted. "It says I'll have an hour to search underground for something that has been taken from me."

"I see. It could be a dungeon in the castle, too." Hermione added helpfully. "I just don't know of any caves around here that might have creatures fond of stealing things...or singing."

"That's okay, thanks for your help." He stood up, stretching. "I think I'll go for a walk, try and keep my mind on it." He had one more place to look, but he'd wait for nightfall for that.

* * *

Fleur Delacour picked at the remainder of her food, alone in the Great Hall. Almost everyone else had long since eaten and she'd had Clara fix her a plate of food during the regular mealtime. Fleur had been studying the bubble-head charm in her room during dinner.

She'd always been naturally good at charms. Still, the bubble-head charm required a degree of precision and she kept producing bubbles that were either too thin and would break easily, or were too thick and difficult to see out of.

It had taken her longer than she cared to admit to recognize the watery symbols inside the golden egg, which is what started her habit of staying in the carriage during dinner time. She didn't want to force everyone to listen to that wicked screeching sound every time she opened it.

Once she figured out the symbols, it had been much easier. She poured herself a bath and took the egg with her. When she listened to it under the water, it was much clearer.

 _Come seek us where our voices sound,_  
 _We cannot sing above the ground,_  
 _And while you're searching, ponder this:_  
 _We've taken what you'll sorely miss,_  
 _An hour long you'll have to look,_  
 _And to recover what we took,_  
 _But past an hour – the prospect's black_  
 _Too late, it's gone, it won't come back._

She knew of only one species that sang underneath the water and couldn't be understood above ground, merpeople. She hadn't known that it would sound like such terrible screeching, however.

So, knowing that she would need to spend an hour underwater, she began looking for ways to do that. The bubble-head charm was the easiest, or so she'd thought. She read about gillyweed, but once she found out it would cause her to sprout gills, she nixed that idea. It was repulsive to think about having gills in her neck for any amount of time. Just thinking about it again made her shiver.

Deciding that she simply wasn't hungry, she pushed the plate of food to the center of the table and stood. After a moment the food disappeared, leaving a clean, empty plate behind. She headed back to the carriage, planning to work more on her charms.

She'd made it just past the staircase when she heard footsteps behind her. Before she could turn and look, a voice called out and the footsteps quickened, catching up to her.

"Hey, how's it going?" Brad asked, falling into step beside her. She couldn't help a partial smile that formed on her lips. She hadn't seen him since the Yule Ball and had begun to wonder if he was avoiding her. Clearly, thankfully, that was not the case.

"Bonjour, Brad," Fleur smiled at him. "I was just on my way to the carriage."

"That's too bad, I was about to take a walk around the lake," Brad replied. Fleur glanced over at the large lake. The sun was beginning to set and it cast a beautiful shimmer on the water.

"Did you want some company?" she asked. Brad responded with a smile that she took as a yes, and they both turned toward the water, walking at a slow pace. She remembered how nice it felt, walking with him arm in arm, being close to someone without them turning into a drooling mess. Before she'd consciously decided to do so, she found her arm slipping into his again. He pulled her gently closer as they walked and she relaxed into him. After a long moment, she spoke. "So, why are we walking around the lake?"

"Well," Brad sighed, "I'm considering the clues in that egg." Fleur stood upright more, raising her eyebrow. He stopped walking and she turned to face him.

"I wonder what zey are going to take," Fleur mused, shifting her gaze to the lake. He turned and followed her gaze.

"Yeah, I dunno," Brad replied. He glanced behind them and pulled away from her. When she looked back, he was seated comfortably on a little log that had fallen over. She went and sat next to him and was relaxed further when he put his arm around her back.

She wasn't used to boys being close to her without turning into a vapid shell, and hadn't realized how frustrating it was. It was exhausting keeping herself on guard at all times and she found it refreshing that she could relax around Brad. She thought about it for a moment and decided to push the envelope just a little further, still exploring her comfort zone.

She scooted in close to him and rested her head against his shoulder. Brad's arm tightened around her and she was glad for it. Being close to him didn't feel restricting, it felt protective, like nothing could touch her. She felt his chin rest gently on her head and knew they were both just staring into the lake.

Fleur had no idea how long they stayed like that, unmoving. It surprised her that he was able to stay so still for so long. She shifted a couple times and he just adjusted with her, but wasn't until the sun was almost completely set that they wordlessly and somehow unanimously decided it was time to head back.

She stood up to stretch and caught him watching her. It didn't feel like the predatory gaze of other boys and men who stared at her though. If she wasn't paying attention they seemed to lose their minds around her.

When Brad watched though, it felt different. There was a spark of desire in his eyes, of that she was certain, but he always maintained discipline. She liked that he talked to her without trying to impress her, without focusing on her looks. She also liked that they could sit together without saying a thing and still be relaxed and comfortable.

It made her wonder if he was always such a protector of things. He'd rescued her and Gabrielle, her sister, from bad men at the Quidditch Cup, along with taking Harry Potter's place in the tournament. She still felt bad about mistaking his reasoning for entering the tournament. For so long, boys around her did outlandish, stupid, and dangerous things to try to impress her. She simply hadn't been prepared to see him doing something stupid and dangerous for noble reasons.

"Thank you for inviting me to spend the evening with you," Fleur said, the sound of Brad standing up pulling her back into the moment. He placed his hand at the small of her back and they started walking toward the carriage.

"No, thank you," he said as they started. "It was a great way to spend the evening."

They enjoyed each other's company all the way back to the carriage, the subjects of their conversation changing rapidly. They talked about the Skrewts that had been terrorizing the Care of Magical Creatures class for the majority of this year so far, and speculated about where the Durmstrang ship came from, among other things.

"It has been a nice eve-" Fleur started, but the carriage door swung open with a _bang._ Clara burst out giving Fleur a scandalous grin.

" _You've been alone with him all evening!"_ Clara laughed. Fleur felt her cheeks flush and launched forward from Brad's side, smacking Clara in the arm.

" _Stop it,"_ she said. "It wasn't like that!"

Clara recoiled a little from the slap but the grin remained firmly planted on her face. She grabbed Fleur by the hand and pulled, leading her into the carriage.

" _Goodbye,_ Brad," Clara called out as she disappeared into the carriage. Fleur gave one last glance back as she was lead in, a look that said _sorry, she's crazy._ He was just smiling at her.

Clara led her straight to their shared room. The cabin was very roomy but not enough so to give everyone private rooms. Madame Maxine had promised them that the champion could have a private room, if they chose, but Fleur didn't want to give up the space with her best friend.

" _So, what did you guys do?!"_ Clara exclaimed as soon as the door was shut. Fleur felt the familiar rush of blood to her cheeks and Fleur covered her face with her hands.

" _It wasn't like that,_ " Fleur insisted, sitting down on the side of her bed. Clara sat on her own bed, directly across from Fleur. She didn't respond and when Fleur looked up, she was still wearing that look of scandalous disbelief.

Fleur threw herself back onto her bed, grabbing her pillow and covering her face with it, muffling the sound of Clara's laughter. She was unbearable sometimes.

* * *

Brad stood there a moment, savoring his evening, and then decided it was time to finish getting intel.

He started the long, cold walk to FOB Phoenix. By the time he reached the main gate it was completely dark outside. Brad presented his ID and was let in. He walked straight to the Command and Control building as though he had business there, which in a way he did.

It wasn't official business, but it was business nonetheless. Inside, he walked to the back of the building where the drone operators were. Inside, he saw a pilot flying one of the UAVs over the Forbidden Forest. He slipped in and stood behind the pilot's shoulder.

"Evening, Lieutenant," Brad said, eyeing the insignia on the pilot's collar. The pilot looked up at Brad, confused.

"Uh, hello, sir," she said, confused by his presence.

"How are things looking out there?" Brad asked, pointedly looking at the screen. The pilot resumed controlling the UAV.

"All quiet," she replied simply.

"Very good," Brad said, standing erect again. "I'll let you keep at it." He slipped out of the room, one hand in his pocket. Once out, he made for the Records room. Looking both ways to make sure no one was paying attention, he swiped the drone pilot's access badge against the reader and the light went from red to green, the door unlocking.

He pushed his way in and went to the single computer terminal inside the room. There were filing cabinets filled with requisition order forms, personnel files, and other such bureaucratic items. The computer was where his prize was, however.

Brad sat down quietly, typing in his log in information. He simply had to hope that no one was keeping a close eye on the records terminal. He wasn't technically allowed in the system, being that he was assigned to duty as a Triwizard Champion. The system could have things that would give him an edge over other competitors, which was, of course, why he was here.

He ran a search through the database of reconnaissance reports looking for any mention of the words "cave" or "underground." He found that there were no caves or other underground systems in the Forbidden Forest or on Hogwarts grounds.

There was, however, a small network of caves in the mountains north of FOB Phoenix. Smiling to himself, he logged off of the computer and slipped out of the records room. He put the drone pilot's ID badge on a counter in the small kitchen and left the FOB, running the coordinates of the caves through his head over and over until he made it back to the castle.

He went straight to the armory where he grabbed his SOLDA and plugged the coordinates in. Over the next few weeks he'd explore every nook and cranny in those caves so that come time for the second task, he'd know the layout by heart.

* * *

A tall, balding man sat directly in the sunlight with a deep frown on his face, propped up against an old Land Rover. He loosened the tie he was wearing. It was hot. Too fucking hot for January. He should be inside, sipping hot cocoa with his wife, Sandra. Instead, he was on this miserable continent, hunting down a fugitive on a decidedly cold trail. Unfortunately, it was the only cold thing about this place.

He was in The-Middle-Of-Nowhere, Egypt. His escort, a pair of locals from the General Intelligence Directorate. They knew this desert like the back of their hands and knew all of the unlikely places someone might hide.

A special operations team had tracked Howard Eden halfway across Africa and lost the trail in a small village, somewhere in Burundi. After some digging around, the CIA caught wind that the Egyptian GID had filed a report of someone matching Eden's description poking around this area. The investigation lead them here.

So, The Company sent Mr. Burke. He'd worked for the CIA for most of his adult life. For the last year or so he'd been assigned, directly by the President of the United States, to a sub-command of JSOC, Task Force Ansible.

They needed someone well connected in the intelligence community, someone who could get things done outside of internal JSOC abilities. The downside of that meant he was stuck working for the Army now, not the other way around. It wasn't often someone from the company was assigned to an Army command. Usually it was the other way around.

A pot-bellied man stepped forward out of the tomb and Mr. Burke looked down at him. Only one of his two escorts spoke English, and this was the guy that didn't. The man spoke slowly and beckoned Burke forward, as though speaking slower was going to fix the language barrier.

With a sigh, Burke pushed himself from the Land Rover and followed the pot-bellied spy down into the tomb. It was cramped and dark, the light from the sun rapidly disappearing as they worked their way into the tomb. Soon, the dim glow of chem lights provided all of their light.

Finally, as the passage narrowed to a nearly claustrophobic point, it opened up into a wide room. Battery powered lanterns were set about the large tomb. With as humid as it felt in the tomb he wondered if they could even light a torch.

Just past a stone sarcophagus stood Amon, the GID spook that could speak English. He was standing over a table covered in parchment and old books.

"Very strange," Amon said, his accented voice echoing in the tomb. The fatter one, Bes, went over to a corner of the room to relieve himself. Burke sighed, wondering why the man had waited to do it _inside_ the ancient tomb.

"What have you got?" Burke asked as he stepped to Amon's shoulder. He glanced at the papers and parchment. He couldn't speak or read Arabic so the text was like...well, ancient Egyptian...how often could you say that literally? The only thing in English on the table was a light blue book, _Tales of Beedle the Bard._

"This is all about ancient magic," Amon replied, pointing to a sketch of a darkly cloaked demonic figure that appeared to be sucking the spirit out of a man. "Dark magic."

"How so?" Burke asked cautiously. This is where the line he needed to tread became thin. The reality of magic was a closely guarded secret and he couldn't go talking like he believed it was real. It was, however, real, and it appeared that Eden was researching this stuff. That made it important.

"It is a warning for those who would split their spirits," Amon said, pointing at a figure that appeared to be forcing an organ into a small figurine. "It tells of a dark place where those who would perform such magic are tortured for eternity by the lack of their soul, that they are consumed by the desire to feel whole again and become slaves to those who know magic."

"I see," Burke said. So Eden was learning about ancient magic. That almost never turned out well. "I'll take pictures of all of this stuff, see if our guys can make sense of it."

"Very strange for a fugitive from law to make his way to a tomb of this nature, to study ancient mythology." Amon turned to face Burke, trying to glean some further information from the American. Burke didn't respond. Instead, he pulled out a small camera and began taking front and back pictures of each page. As soon as the camera reconnected to the satellite, the pictures would upload to the JSOC database and analysts would be pouring over every pixel.

Further digging through the jumbled mess on the table revealed a crumpled up handkerchief. With any luck, there would be DNA on it. Sweat, hair, anything that could give them a positive ID. It was going to take time to get it to a suitable lab, however. Burke bagged it and headed back up the narrow passage.


	49. Doubling Down

DISAPPEARANCE OF RITA SKEETER  
by Thurgood Montgomery

It has been weeks since anyone has heard news of beloved reporter for the Daily Prophet, Rita Skeeter.

During her tenure as a reporter for the Daily Prophet, she tackled large project after large project, never stopping until she had everything she needed for the story. From the Westminster Vampire Coven atrocity to the Goblin Mafia conspiracy, she dove in and did what needed to be done to inform you, our beloved readers, of the events of our world.

Most recently she had been assigned to the incredible events of the Triwizard Tournament. With _four_ champions and one of them being a muggle soldier, there was no shortage of story to be had.

Yet, when she began investigating the infamous Task Force Ansible, muggle soldiers that have been brought into magical society, things began to take a turn for the worse. She began being harassed by security forces deployed to Hogwarts and Hogsmeade and then, suddenly, disappeared.

Witnesses state that she was seen leaving Hogsmeade of her own volition and nothing after that. While there is no direct evidence to point to _anyone_ being responsible for her disappearance, her investigation into the shadowy military muggles appears to be her final story.

Rest assured, dear readers, for this reporter will be paying very close attention to Task Force Ansible. Keep your subscriptions up-to-date for the latest news.

* * *

Brad stood outside the cave entrance. It was the largest of the network of caves above FOB Phoenix and his theory was that this would be the location of the second task. He'd found several nooks and crannies that could hide important items or adversaries.

He flipped the panoramic night vision device down in front of his eyes. The device had, by far, the best resolution of any NVD he'd ever used. Everything had a whitish blue tinge and appeared crisply, as opposed to the grainy green he used to see. He also had a ninety-seven degree field of view, a far cry from previous generations that made it seem like he was looking through binoculars, if only for the limited field of view.

Brad burst in through the cave entrance. He knew it was pitch black as he went inside but he could see clearly. He moved quickly and with practiced ease, stepping over a ridge in the stone ground. He pushed his rifle to the right, clearing a small alcove, and moved on.

He dipped under stalactites and through the small forest of stalagmites, not stumbling at all. He cleared each nook and each cranny until he reached the end of the cave. Glancing down at his watch he smiled.

It took him twenty-four minutes and eighteen seconds to clear the cave. When he'd first started it took him an hour and ten minutes to reach the end. That wouldn't have cut it. He felt ready for the second task and began working his way out of the cave.

The walk down to FOB Phoenix was peaceful. He listened to birds chirping their songs to each other. In his full kit he felt out of place in such a serene forest and he simply did his best not to disturb the wildlife on his way.

When he reached the FOB he took his kit off and set it all aside in a box. He stowed the box in the back of a Humvee that would be running supplies to Hogwarts, figuring he could catch a ride back.

"Captain," Colonel Sumner surprised him. Brad turned away from the Humvee to face the colonel. Last he'd heard, Colonel Sumner would be spending a few days in London at the behest of the Ministry of Magic. They'd launched a full inquiry into the disappearance of Rita Skeeter and it seemed they were determined to place the blame on TFA.

"I thought you'd be in London by now, sir."

"Sergeant Matthews volunteered to handle the assignment," Sumner replied.

"Hmm." Brad wasn't sure what to think of that. Mike was the last person in the entire task force that he would expect to volunteer for an assignment to London, especially one that would keep him away on Valentine's Day.

"Things going okay for him?" Sumner asked. Honestly, he was wondering the same thing. Mike and Hermione seemed to be solid, he had no idea why Mike would bug out like that.

"I'll look into it, sir," Brad replied, making up his mind to go find Hermione and see how she was holding up. He felt bad, he'd been spending so much time checking out the caves and preparing for the second task that he hadn't really spent much time with his team. Could things have been deteriorating?

"You do that. And Captain, stay the fuck out of the records room." Sumner turned and headed back to the command building. So much for getting a stealthy leg up on the competition.

A few minutes later the Humvee was on the road and heading back to Hogwarts. Hogsmeade Highway, the name given to the path between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade by TFA mission planners, was busy with happy couples heading to and from town.

Once he'd made it to the castle, he began his search. He started in the Great Hall, simply because it was on the ground floor. After that he headed to the Library. When he didn't find her there, he tried the Gryffindor common room.

He found her sitting in a chair, looking out the window at the school grounds. She had an open textbook in her lap. Ancient Runes, if the homework parchment on the table next to her gave any indication.

"Hey, Hermione," Brad said. He closed the distance and sat in a chair across from her.

"Oh, hey." She seemed startled out of her thoughts and quickly shut her book. Her eyes seemed a little puffy.

"How're you doing?" Brad asked, deciding not to beat around the bush too much.

"The Colonel sent Mike to a meeting in London," she replied, her tone even. Still, in her eyes, he could see the anger she was feeling toward Colonel Sumner, the loneliness of not having Mike around.

"Yeah, duty calls at the most inconvenient times," Brad said. So, she didn't know Mike volunteered for the assignment...damned if he was going to insert himself into _that_ particular mess.

He knew Mike pretty well and the guy was enamored with her. He couldn't think of a single reason Mike would choose to be away from Hermione in general, let alone on Valentine's Day, the day of and for relationships. Brad planned to find out as soon as he got back.

"Yeah," Hermione agreed. "It's just lousy," her voice almost broke, but she maintained.

"Well, I don't have much going on today, if you want to hang out," Brad offered. She smiled at him and shook her head.

"I think I'd rather work on this," she said, opening the book back up. It was, in fact, her Ancient Runes book.

"Let me know if you need anything, Hermione," Brad said, standing up. He was familiar with wanting to just be alone, but he felt like he should extend the invite anyway. Just in case.

He headed back downstairs and couldn't keep his mind from wandering to Fleur. He'd had a great time with her at the ball and then their...what, date?...at the lake. He wasn't sure it was a date, but then what else was it? They'd stayed pretty close to each other the whole time.

Standing up on the steps leading into the castle, Brad looked out at the Beauxbatons carriage. He thought about going over there to see if she was around, but what would she think of that? She was fond enough of him to rest up against him, but did that mean she wanted to _date_ him? He didn't know girls well enough to know.

He liked how things were with her right now and he wasn't sure he wanted to meddle with it, wasn't confident that he _could_ meddle with it without blowing it to smithereens. Where would they go? What would they do? Or would she laugh him off?

Not for the first time, he felt completely out of his depth. She was a gorgeous witch and he was a soldier. Until this morning he would have felt like it was an unlikely but possible combination. But Mike skipping out on Hermione made him wonder.

With a final glance at the Beauxbatons carriage, he headed back inside. He could always pass the time cleaning his HK416.

* * *

Fleur watched as Brad turned and headed back into the castle, and her heart sank a little. They hadn't talked since that night at the lake. It had been so close and comfortable. She figured it was just because he was busy trying to figure out how to hold his breath for an hour.

But, today was La St-Valentin. She hadn't said it out loud to anyone but Clara, but she'd been hoping he'd ask her to be his valentine, or something at least. It was the first time since Clara had met her that Fleur had wanted a valentine at all.

" _Oh for goodness sake,"_ Clara groaned as Brad turned to head back inside. " _I'll go get him and drag him out here!"_

" _No, don't!"_ Fleur exclaimed as Clara started to stand up and head to the door.

" _Neither of you are making any moves,"_ Clara replied throwing her hands up in exasperation. She didn't go for the door but she didn't sit down either. " _At this rate you'll start your dating life at eighty!"_

" _Who said he even_ wants _to date me?"_ Fleur asked, voicing the concern that had seeded itself deep inside her since she'd started paying attention to him.

" _You're part Veela!"_ Clara cried out, taking a seat on the edge of her own bed. " _You can date anyone you want!"_

" _He's different,"_ Fleur said, and they both knew it was true. By now any other boy she'd given _any_ indication of attraction to had turned into a blithering idiot and started trying to court her in the most insane ways.

She recalled one boy who had tried to impress her by transfiguring a snake into a kitten. He hadn't mentioned that he'd used transfiguration to get her the kitten, nor that he was terrible at transfiguration. The cat had barely left his hand when it turned back into a very upset snake. She still had a pair of dots on her right hand from where she'd been bitten.

Brad was different. She had never let herself relax with another boy as much as she had with him and he remained a regular human being. She didn't have to reign in her magical allure when she was sitting with him. He just continued to treat her like she was just a regular person, none of that insane worship.

The downside of it was that she had no idea if he was just being kind and polite or if he was really attracted to her. She enjoyed being able to be herself around him and didn't want to mess that up.

" _I'm just saying, if neither of you make a move then you're not going to get anywhere,"_ Clara said. " _If we aren't going to go track him down can we at least go get some chocolate from the dining room?"_

Madame Maxine had always been big on holidays and liked to decorate the school. She'd had to settle for decorating the interior of the carriage this year, but she'd gone all out and the fountain of chocolate had been a favorite all day.

* * *

Mike sat still in his Class A uniform, now being worn for its second time, as he listened to the droning voices of Ministry officials go on and on about the disappearance of Rita Skeeter. He almost, _almost,_ regretted volunteering for the assignment. Someone from TFA had to be present at the inquiry and the logical choice was Sumner. It took Mike a little bit of work, but he'd managed to convince Sumner that he could handle it.

He suspected Sumner hadn't wanted to come in the first place, and it conveniently lined up with the set-up for the second Triwizard task. Mike was going to be the objective for Brad to retrieve from the bottom of the lake. Sumner had gone into detail about the security measures in place to ensure his safety but ultimately left it up to Mike to choose. Since it lined up with his objective of going to London, he decided to do it.

"So we all are in agreement that the last place Ms. Skeeter was seen was in the hands of the American soldiers in Hogsmeade, correct?" It was Johan Carmichael, a lackey if Mike had ever seen one. So far he'd tried to pin, directly or indirectly, the disappearance of Rita squarely on TFA and, like a puppy looking for his master's approval, he kept glancing over at Fudge while he spoke. The head of DMLE, who had up to this point had not been allowed to present her evidence, had repeatedly reminded the man that she'd been seen afterward many times on her way out of Hogsmeade.

"No, sir," Amelia Bones answered tiredly. The poor Director seemed to have her work cut out for her. She appeared singularly determined to keep the hearing fair and forthright, which Mike appreciated. He had been present not to provide testimony or answer questions, but more as a literal focus for political finger pointing. "I have more evidence to present on this and, again, I would like to present it."

The chamber remained silent for a moment. So far, every time she'd asked to present her evidence, she had been cut off by one politician or another as they tried to inject more fury into the mix. This time, no one seemed to have anything to say.

"Very good," she said, standing up and smoothing her robes. She reminded him of a younger Professor McGonagall, if only in her mannerisms. She seemed tightly wound and professional, a no nonsense worker.

"Now," she announced, pointing her wand to her throat and causing a microphone effect so that her voice was easily heard everywhere. "At my direction, investigators were sent to the work space and residence of Ms. Skeeter. Our goal was to find any possible motive to harm her."

"You did what, now?" one of the politicians cried out in interruption. To her credit, Director Bones remained calm and professional at the outburst.

"It is standard policing procedure and has been for many centuries," she said patiently, then continued. "What we uncovered was...surprising." She paused, looking for the right words to say. "I cannot comment on ongoing investigations, of which there are now several. What I can say is that Ms. Skeeter had a tremendous supply of evidence connecting her to blackmail, extortion, and various other illegal activities. She had _many_ more potential enemies and I doubt very much if we will ever discover the true culprit."

"What evidence of blackmail?" another low level politician asked with a distinctly worried look on his face. Mike suppressed a smile.

"As I said, I will not comment on ongoing investigations. I will, however, state that we have _no_ evidence linking Task Force Ansible with the disappearance of Rita Skeeter. Furthermore, we have evidence that she may have involved herself with other groups that were much more likely to orchestrate her disappearance."

"So you're certain that Task Force Ansible," Minister Fudge, a little fatter since the last time Mike had seen him, started, "has nothing to do with the disappearance of this valued member of the press?"

Mike was amused at the look of irritation that passed across Director Bones' face. It never showed in her voice, however, and Mike gave her points for her it. "I cannot say one way or the other whether or not they're responsible. I can, however, say we have no direct evidence that they are behind it and we _do_ have evidence that she had been involved with dangerous criminals."

There was a lot of back and forth after that, mostly direct questions about the investigation that Director Bones had to decline to answer or skirt politically.

Things finally, _finally_ came to an end when it was declared that the investigation was complete and inconclusive. There had not been enough evidence to declare TFA responsible for the disappearance. As they were dismissed, Mike made his exit quickly. The last thing he wanted was to be cornered by some politician with an angle, whatever it may be.

As he made his way down rows of seats he saw no fewer than four individuals trying to catch up with him. He ducked through a doorway that lead further into the Ministry and immediately doubled back, making his way to another set of doors that lead back into the tribunal chamber. He slipped back inside and was pleased to see that the ones determined to have words with him were nowhere in sight, undoubtedly hunting through the rest of the Ministry.

Mike found a bathroom and changed from his Class A uniform into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He stowed the uniform neatly in his backpack, freshly enchanted by his very smart girlfriend to act as a closet. He could hang ten sets of Class A's in the backpack and trust them to stay neatly pressed. She was a _genius_.

Without assistance it was difficult, but he managed to make his way to a general exit which took the form of a painting of a decrepit alley in downtown London. He stared at it for several long moments before finally deciding to touch the painting. As soon as he touched it he was yanked through.

He felt his feet touch the ground and he slid forward, straight at a dumpster. His hands shot out in front of him and when he caught the dumpster he came to a stop. Not at all graceful, but he supposed it would do. Cautiously he let go of the dumpster and found that his hands were sticky with something. He wasn't sure what it was and wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Looking around himself, Mike found nothing to clean his hands with. Grimacing he wiped his hands on his jeans. His hands were a little drier now, but still sticky, and now his jeans had dark streaks on them.

"That didn't work well," he muttered, frowning at his pants. Thus far he had only talked to his contact over mail, but Mike had the impression that he was dealing with someone in the upper echelons of society. The stationary he'd used, the neat handwriting and the big words all pointed to a rich, educated man. And thanks to the dumpster and Mike's lack of regular suits, he was going to show up looking like a hobo.

He'd considered staying in his Class A uniform but he wasn't comfortable rolling through downtown London in uniform. It raised a lot of eyebrows. So jeans it was. Dirty jeans.

Mike ducked out of the alleyway and headed north, passing a McDonald's. The streets were packed with cars, and pedestrians lined the sidewalks. People going about their business without a care in the world, completely unaware that magic existed.

He tried to remember what his life was like before knowing magic was a thing. He was destined to kick down doors in third world countries, fighting terrorists. The revelation of magic to JSOC had sent him on this path, leading to here of all places. Not a bad deal at all.

As Mike arrived at the destination address, he felt the confirmation of his worries sink in. The small parking lot adjacent to the building contained nothing cheaper than a Porsche and the shop itself looked like you needed to own a tux just to look through the window.

Mike sighed and headed inside. There were high end suits on racks, rows of ties and polished shoes. He passed the clothing and went straight to the back where a tall, thin man, immaculately dressed, was standing behind the counter.

"Might I suggest the discount store down the road?" the man asked, giving Mike an appraising look. Mike sighed, knowing that jab was coming.

"I'm actually here for something different," Mike replied coolly. There was no sense getting offended by the pompous guy. "I'd like to talk to Mr. Fredrick."

"Indeed." Mike smiled as the man's eyebrows raised halfway up to his hairline. Without another word he ducked back into a room behind the counter. After a long moment a frail old man hobbled out. Mike was surprised to see the man walking and half expected to see him crumple to the floor. He made it to the counter, however, and stared at Mike for a moment.

"Uh, hello," Mike broke the silence. The old man smiled at him, showing crooked teeth.

"She must be important to you," the old man said, pointing a shaking finger at Mike. To this point, Mike had not mentioned exactly who he was getting the ring for, but he supposed it was easy to surmise.

"She is," Mike agreed.

"I hadn't expected a muggle to be so educated in Ancient Runes, nor to have such taste." He bent down behind the counter and Mike stood up on his toes to watch, fearing that the old man might keel over at any moment. Thankfully, the man managed to stay upright as he retrieved a small box from a safe underneath the counter.

"Well, she encourages me to do my homework," Mike said, staring at the box. He'd found that, due to US Army regulation, he had been getting paid since his conscription at seven years old. It was an account he had access to and though the interest rate of zero left something to be desired, he had a healthy supply of money set aside.

Since he'd never had any reason to use it he hadn't given it any thought. He was feeling particularly serious about things with Hermione though, especially since the Ball. She always kept him on his toes and everything in the world felt right when she was around. That was the kind of girl you strive to keep.

He wasn't looking at marriage at this point, though that was mostly because he feared she would think he was moving too fast. But, he'd been secretly reading a book on relationships, reading being something he did more and more since dating Hermione, and one of the pages talked about the promise ring.

It was an open ended thing, the promise ring. It could mean a million different things and was pretty much up to each couple to determine its meaning. Mike was certain at this point he was going to do whatever it took to keep Hermione. Everything in his life was better with her in it.

The promise ring was going to be a physical reminder of the next step he was about to take with her. He was certain of it and terrified of it at the same time. He knew in his heart, without doubt or reservation, that he was in love with her.

Yet, to this point, they had never used that word with each other. They often talked about how much they enjoyed each other's company. They talked about everything together and he felt there was an unspoken agreement that they loved each other.

And so he decided to purchase a promise ring for her, a gift to give her the first time he said out loud that he loved her. She didn't deserve just any ring, however. She often had homework to do and he heard her talking often about her love for Ancient Runes. It was a complicated class involving the deciphering of an ancient language and so far she was the only one he knew that enjoyed it.

A little earlier in the year, while he was reading a book on ancient magical warfare, he learned of an ancient gem-alloy of sorts called a Lifestone. The alloy was created at the request of a queen who had married a great warrior-king. She feared for his life every moment he was away and his wars were often waged for years at a time.

And so she commissioned a great wizard, Ommin, to create a ring that would always tell her if her husband was alive. He toiled for years over it, eventually creating a beautiful gemstone of swirling shades of green and blue with a crimson point in the center, the blood which linked the ring to it's subject. He fastened the gem into a ring and told her that, should the gem ever turn black, that would mean her husband had met his end.

Mike thought about that story for a long time and eventually started looking into it. As it turned out, Lifestone was in fact a real gem to this day, albeit very rare. He managed to track down a seller in London who was willing to fasten a Lifestone into a ring. It cost him a significant chunk of his account, but he felt it was worth it and it wasn't like he was using the money for anything else. If she chose to stay with him, and he was a soldier, at least in this way she could always check in on him. It wasn't even against regulation, being that magic was still something that the Army was working on adapting to.

He'd been sending mail back and forth, getting the order set up for the last month and he'd had to bribe one of the FOB Phoenix medics with his entire stash of MRE crackers and peanut butter, a steep price indeed, but he'd managed to obtain and send a vial of his blood, necessary to complete the spell and link him to the ring.

"Here you go, son." The man held the small box out to Mike. Mike picked it up and, after a moment's hesitation, opened the box. It was perfect.

The gem was modest, not huge and not tiny, and the swirling greens and blues sparkled beautifully, the center was a deep shade of crimson. It was fastened into a delicate silver band. Around the stone laid a neat inscription of ancient runes. "To assure my love that my heart still beats." He smiled at it, and then at the proprietor of the shop.

"It's perfect," Mike said, closing the case and slipping it into his pocket. He'd already paid for it, wiring the money to the correct account. He hadn't worried about a scam artist, confident that anyone bold enough to betray him would regret it pretty close to immediately.

"I don't make my living on anything less," the old man replied. He turned and walked back into the room and Mike left, trying to figure out when he would give her the ring.

* * *

Rufus Scrimgeour frowned as he observed the cafe just down the road. It was a habit he picked up as an Auror, scouting places before his scheduled meetings. He'd been invited to tea by someone who only identified himself as a "concerned party" in his owl mail.

The meeting was due to start soon and he still hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary. Deciding that it wasn't an ambush he made his way across the street and took a seat at one of the open tables. The waitress came by and he ordered a tea.

Muggles were so strange, so consumed in their own little world. Around him, couples sat close together and the cafe itself was decorated with little hearts. Valentine's day had never been a big deal to him.

It amused him sometimes, earlier in his career, to know he was waging a secret war against the Death Eaters. He had been a silent warrior keeping the muggles safe from a threat they didn't even know existed. There had been a poetic attraction to it in his days as an Auror, even if the reality of it was brutal.

Now, as the head of the Auror department, he knew just how frightfully close things had come during the war. The fighting had been bitter and the Ministry had struggled to maintain The Statute during it, but they'd managed.

"Mr. Scrimgeour." A tall man sat down across the table from him. He was neatly dressed and wore a worried look behind his thin-rimmed glasses. "I'm Howard Eden." He spoke in a Southern-American drawl and extended his hand in greeting.

Rufus recognized the name. The man had ties with Lucius Malfoy, which gave him pause. He was _certain_ that Malfoy was a Death Eater, though he never had the proof. Still, this Eden fellow had ties now to many other Ministry officials.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Scrimgeour didn't accept the handshake and, after a moment, Eden dropped his hand to his lap. If he was offended, he didn't show it.

"I'm not really sure how to say or approach this," Eden said. He pulled out a stubby wand and fidgeted with it. Rufus shot him a dark look and, smiling shyly, he put it away. "Old habit, my apologies."

"You were saying?" Rufus asked, wanting him to get to the point already.

"I believe that Lord Voldemort is on the rise again," Eden said, deadly serious. Rufus made no outward reaction, though his heart began to hammer. That was a bold statement. Before he could make a response, however, Eden spoke again. "I believe he is on the rise and I believe Minister Fudge is actively trying to cover it up."

"That's a daring accusation," Scrimgeour said sharply, but there was a kernel of something there. He had to admit, he'd been feeling a little uneasy about the peace lately.

"I've been spending a fair amount of time with Fudge, among others," Eden replied, but he didn't seem boastful about it. "Bertha Jorkins' disappearance, no one is looking into it."

That was true, but he didn't think it had anything to do with Fudge. Bertha had always been a bit absent-minded. Though, now that he thought about it, it had been an unreasonably long time since they'd last heard from her.

"It's not just that… I've been talking with some people, who I am only just finding out were suspected of being Death Eaters." Eden wore a look of horrified innocence at the confession. "They've made little comments, here and there. Nothing overt, of course, but I can't help but be suspicious. And then there's the Potter kid, being forced into the tournament."

"That's hardly proof positive," Rufus replied, but he was already putting puzzle pieces together in his own mind. Bertha worked in Magical Games and Sports. She would have had security knowledge about both the Quidditch Cup and the Triwizard Tournament. Everyone apprehended after the riot at the Quidditch cup had been suspected Death Eaters.

"Perhaps it's nothing, but shouldn't it at least be _investigated_?" Eden pleaded. "I've already talked to the Minister. He is determined not to even look."

Rufus sat for a moment in thought. If the Dark Lord was indeed returning it would throw things into chaos once again. He remembered the glory of fighting those Death Eaters, but the years had made him smarter on such matters. A war was nothing to look forward to. If there was to be another war, however, they needed to be assertive. "I will look into it," he finally replied.

"Thank you," Eden sighed in relief. "I sincerely hope that I am wrong. I'll let you know if I hear anything more." Eden stood, straightening his tie, and left.

Rufus sat for a moment longer, sipping at the tea he'd ordered, trying to think of where to start his investigation.


	50. The Second Task

AN - Sorry for the delay in updating, folks. Insert generic life excuse, things get busy quick. Fast Frank, I wasn't able to send you a response directly, but my understanding is that NVDs have (or can have) infrared illumination lamps that provide the light necessary to amplify a no-light environment without emitting light visible to the naked eye, which is what I pictured when I wrote this.

To the Guest that reviewed Ch4(and thus also cannot be directly responded to), while yes there has been plenty of time to allow for immigration to build the magical US up since the witch trials, I would argue that the US just wasn't a major destination for witches and wizards. In Europe there is magical history, known institutions, prestigious schools, culture... In the US you have a higher per capita dark creature volume and a weak government. My logic isn't perfection, but I think it works okay for a story.

Finally, I agree with the majority of comments about how long I took with the arc from book 3. This has been a learning process for me and I have definitely made mistakes, and will probably make more. I appreciate all of you who have stuck with it and kept reading this story, and I appreciate you all leaving me advice, it has been a huge help. I apologize for this criminally long AN. I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

Brad lifted his plate carrier over his head and fastened it in place, double checking each strap to make sure everything was snug. He pulled on his shooting gloves and picked the Sig Sauer P226, feeling the familiar weight of his trusted sidearm.

He slid a red striped magazine in place and pushed the slide forward, chambering one of the stunning rounds. He only had a couple magazines of stunning ammo for his sidearm, figuring that if he had to transition to his handgun for more than a couple magazines, something had gone very wrong.

He locked his sidearm into the thigh holster and picked up his HK416, starting the process again with his rifle. Aiming down the sights to make sure everything lined up appropriately and that the digital ACOG sight was functioning properly. He flicked the Surefire flashlight on and off a few times and then did the same with the laser.

"What's up, bro?" Jason asked. Brad hadn't heard him enter. He picked up a red-striped polymer magazine up and slid it home, chambering a round into the rifle as well.

"Everything ready?" Brad had been told to stay inside the castle for the duration of the morning and that someone would come get him when they were ready to begin the second task.

"Yeah, they're good to go out there. And Sumner has additional eyes on this task. If someone tries to tamper with anything, we'll know about it." Jason replied, appraising Brad in his kit. Brad clipped his rifle to the sling and let it hang as he pulled his helmet on and fastened it. Finally, he snapped his night vision device to his helmet. He was ready to go.

"Let's rock," Brad said, stepping toward Jason and the door. Jason didn't respond as they headed outside.

Brad didn't even make it fully out of the castle before noticing that something was wrong. There was a huge stadium built next to a brand new dock on the lake. The stadium was filled with cheering students and, at this distance, he could see three figures standing on the dock.

"Shit," Brad muttered. Jason didn't reply. What was there to say? As they got closer Brad confirmed that the three figures on the dock were indeed the other champions. His heart sank a little when he saw that all three of them were wearing swimming outfits.

He thought back on what he'd heard exactly when the egg had fallen in the shower. It hadn't said _underground_ at all. It said _could not….above..ground._ Underwater wasn't above the ground. _SHIT._

"Ehrm," Ludo Bagman cleared his throat as Brad approached the dock. "Good luck." Ludo disappeared into the stadium with a worried look and Brad headed to the dock to stand with the other champions.

"That stuff looks heavy," Cedric commented as he got closer.

"I might have misinterpreted some things," Brad admitted. An hour _underwater_. How the hell was he going to manage that? He wracked his brain as he stood there, looking out at the lake. It looked a lot less peaceful and comforting than it had when he was sitting with Fleur.

He glanced at her and she gave him a worried smile. He smiled back without emotion. The SOLDA device popped into his head. He was pretty sure that a submersible was in the inventory of the OCDS satellite. He was gonna have to hope that there wasn't a SEAL somewhere that had already called that thing in because it was gonna be his only real chance. He could hear Bagman talking to the students now.

"Our champions are...ready...for the second task," Bagman stumbled a bit on the ready part and Brad winced, knowing that he was pretty obviously not ready. Not only had he not realized that he would need to do this underwater, he hadn't found a single item of his out of place. He had no idea what to look for once he was down there.

"Three, two, one," Bagman counted down and the others got into ready stances. _Boom_. The cannon fired and all three of the other contestants waved their wands about themselves.

Brad focused on the SOLDA device on his arm. He scrolled down to the OCDS menu and began searching through. He heard several splashes in the water and glanced over just in time to see Fleur's legs disappear into the water. He alone was on the dock.

He found what he was looking for. He was glad to see that there were actually two SOUIP-2 submersibles in the OCDS inventory, though he found no underwater firearms at all in the inventory. He selected the submersible and pushed the fire sequence, targeting the lake in front of him. He saw the launch confirmation and an ETA of eight minutes.

The Special Operations Underwater Insertion Pod was a single person frame with streamlined ports to either side of an angled HUD screen. The operator would lay forward between the two ports which pull water from the front and out through the back. The design was more efficient than props and allowed the pod greater speed and maneuverability while also maintaining a stealthier design. The heads up display on the front glass pane was capable of displaying an advanced detection system. It used a ping similar to sonar in order to create a 3D rendering of whatever was ahead for the next hundred or so meters. Far from perfect but a lot better than nothing.

As soon as he got the order confirmation he pulled the rifle from its sling and laid it on the dock. He pulled off his helmet, his plate carrier, the belt and handgun harness...pretty soon his entire kit lay in a pile next to him and he stood in the dock, thankful that he was a boxer briefs kind of man, and thankful that Fleur was underwater.

After several more agonizing minutes ticked by, Brad could hear the telltale roar of atmospheric reentry. The SWCC boats were circling the water slowly with divers on-board, likely to rescue anyone who needed it. He hadn't seen any of the three other champions resurface, so he figured they were probably doing alright.

He looked at the SOLDA device, the only thing he was wearing aside from his boxers, the small boot knife he had strapped to his ankle with some Coban from his medical kit, and Harry's wand, which he had similarly secured to his other leg. He saw the GPS projection of the pod's landing spot. Just as he'd ordered, it would be landing several meters into the water in front of him.

Brad took a deep breath and jumped into the water. The cold water bit at him immediately and he was suddenly very thankful for the several months they'd spent training with SEAL instructors. He was a bit rusty to be certain, but the hardest part was knowing that you _could_ do something, and he hadn't forgotten that.

Something that SEALs had beaten into their brains during training was the forty percent rule. When you had reached the point where you didn't think you could handle more, you had really reached forty percent of your ability.

Most people gave up when the going started getting tough. Tough people stuck it out for longer, but there was a different mindset value in special operations forces. They were looking for those that were too stubborn to give up.

And so even though the cold water bit at him from every angle and threatened to steal his breath when he jumped in, Brad continued and swam toward the projected LZ swiftly and confidently. Shortly after he began the swim there was a tremendous splash ahead of him as the pod had arrived.

Brad swam forward a little further and arrived where the pod had disturbed the water. It was floating about a foot or so under the surface of the water. He dove down forcing his eyes open underneath the water. It burned and he kept blinking at it but he needed to be able to see what he was doing. He reached the pod and grabbed the handle. Sticking his feet to either side of the handle he pushed at the pod, triggering the release mechanism.

The pod broke apart and a large bubble floated up. The pod walls sank quickly and the submersible floated in front of him along with a fluorescent orange bag. He grabbed the bag and kicked up toward the surface of the water.

Taking a few lungfuls of air and blinking the murky water from his eyes, he tore the bag open, pulling out a pair of underwater goggles and a rebreather mask. The mask fit over his mouth and he had to bite down to hold it in place, not ideal but it was a lot better than holding his breath.

With the mask and goggles in place he swam down to the sub and positioned himself inside it. Pressing the ignition button he felt the vehicle hum to life. He raised his arm in front of his face and looked to his SOLDA map for which direction lead to the center of the lake, and started off.

The sub kicked forward and he held on, feeling the flow of water behind him as he was dragged along. He figured the center of the lake would be as good a place as any to start.

The water was murky and even with the floodlights turned on he could only see a few feet in front of him. He reached a finger forward and selected the sonar ping. There was ticking pulse that happened every few seconds and the glass in front of him started to read shapes as the computer on-board interpreted the data.

Below him he could see what looked to him like a natural lake bed. There were various shapes in the water ahead of him, mostly distant. One looked like a person swimming, a champion he guessed. He could see the bottom of one of the SWCC boats as it skipped along the surface.

As he continued he noticed he was making better time than the other figure. The sub was able to move him pretty quickly through the water. He passed the other champion, giving a wide berth just in case. He didn't want to take a stray burst from a wand if someone was feeling particularly competitive.

Closer to the center of the lake he began seeing what looked like unnatural structures. He also started to hear singing, clearer this time.

 _Come seek us where our voices sound  
We cannot sing above the ground_

 _Oh sure,_ now _I hear that_. He angled toward where he thought the singing was coming from and started seeing other figures in the HUD display. Shadowy figures that moved quickly through the water and four figures evenly spaced in the center of an open clearing between stone structures.

As he got closer he began to see what looked like mermaids or something. They were a little creepy looking and almost all of them were armed with tridents. They seemed curious about him but kept their distance.

He angled the pod to the figures in the middle of the clearing and felt a painful adrenaline spike as he got close enough to illuminate them. They were people...they were here to rescue _people_. He let go of the pod and swam forward.

Out of nowhere a half shark looking figure swept past him and toward the...hostages? That seemed like the best word for it. Brad reached down and pulled the knife from his ankle, wincing as the blade sliced his skin. He tried to swim after the shark-man but it was faster than he was. It stopped in front of the four hostages, then swam down, biting the rope that bound them to the floor of the lake and dragging them off.

With a sigh, Brad realized that was one of the other champions and not a threat. He was worried for a second that shark-people were an actual thing in the lake. He swam the rest of the way to the remaining hostages. As he examined them he recognized Cho Chang. Beside her was a small girl with familiar silver-blonde hair floating around her face, and finally…Mike.

Brad's heart hammered. Those motherfuckers had taken _people_. One was a little girl for fucks sake, she couldn't be more than eleven or twelve. And Mike. _Jesus._ He swam closer to Mike and could see that his hands were bound in front of him and around his nose and mouth there was some kind of hard, chitinous substance.

He put his fingers to Mike's neck with practiced ease and felt. There was a pulse and it felt strong. Brad swam down a bit and cut the rope with his knife, dragging Mike back to the sub. On his way he saw Cedric Diggory with what looked like a bubble around his head. Brad didn't watch as he got Mike to the sub, hooking the operators hands around one of the handlebars.

Brad took a look at the SOLDA device. They were forty-six minutes into the task by his count. When he looked back over, Cho and Cedric were gone, leaving just the little girl that looked like a young Fleur.

Brad remembered back to when he'd found Fleur in that tent during the Quidditch Cup. She had been holding a young girl about that age. Was that her sister?

He forced down the anger he was starting to feel. It was unbelievable to think that they'd use _people_ as objects in this tournament...to use a young girl like that? Someone's sibling? It was disgusting.

He wanted to get back to the surface, to see if Mike was okay, but he couldn't bring himself to leave the girl behind. Fleur was a capable witch but it simply wasn't in his ability to just _assume_ she was going to make it.

Brad could see the merpeople eyeing him curiously from a distance. He edged the sub closer and closer to the young girl and noticed the merpeople closing the distance a bit in response. It seemed like they didn't want him to try and rescue her. _Fat chance_.

He glanced at the SOLDA device again. Fifty-two minutes in. They were running out of time and he still hadn't seen Fleur. He didn't know if she'd run into some kind of trouble, but he damn well wasn't going to leave her sister down here. Deciding that now was the time to act, Brad swam away from the sub, which was now just a few feet from her, and grabbed her rope.

One of the merpeople shot forward in a flash and he almost dropped his knife in surprise as a trident edged against his neck.

"Only one!" it bubbled out at him with a menacing look on its face. He glanced around and saw that only the one mermaid was within reach of him, the rest had maintained their distance. Slowly he let go of the rope and the mermaid relaxed, edging the trident away from Brad. A mistake that Brad capitalized on.

Brad's free hand shot out, gripping the trident and he kicked his feet in front of himself, up against the slimy center of the mermaid. He pushed hard, yanking the trident from the mermaid's grasp and pushing the creature away from him. He let the trident fall and acted fast before the stunned mermaids around him could react.

He grabbed the rope and slashed at it with the knife, cutting it in one swipe. He pulled hard on the rope and the young girl slid through the water toward him. He grabbed hold of her bound wrists and kicked toward the sub. While it was only a couple feet away from him, he hardly moved and the kick seemed to knock the mermaids out of their idleness.

Dropping the knife he grabbed at Mike's ankle, the closest thing to him, and pulled. The mermaids were closing the distance rapidly, but the pull did the trick and he and the young girl slid up to the sub. He hooked her hands around the other handlebar and smashed the emergency ballast button. The sub kicked up and away from him, dragging the two hostages along as it rose toward the surface.

Brad, not attached to the sub in any way, remained behind and was determined to give the hostages the best chance at survival that he could manage. He turned to face the closest of the merpeople and rose his hands to try and grab at the trident it was carrying. It swam up at the last second, its tail smacking his arms and face, knocking the rebreather from his mouth and lifting one of the goggles ends up. Water filled part of his goggles and he couldn't open his eyes without the murky water stinging at them.

He felt panic rise in his chest. He was deep underwater and hadn't had a full breath when the rebreather had been knocked away. He forced his eyes open and looked for the glint of light from his sub, which would tell him which way to swim. Thinking he saw it above himself, he kicked hard and began to swim up.

He forced himself to stay calm, though his lungs protested with every millisecond. Each kick, each swipe of his arms caused his lungs to scream, to beg for oxygen. _But, at least I got them out._ It didn't seem like the merpeople were keen on fighting him now, not that he was going to be worth much fighting back anyway.

The burn started to become overbearing. All he could think about was getting the next breath and he felt his chest starting to hitch, his body mutinied against his mind. He was starting to see spots and his vision was narrowing. _But he got them out_.

His chest hitched again and he felt air slip from his nostrils and his body rebelled against him. Water ran up his nose as his lungs forced him into a shallow breath. He tried to stop it but the damage was done. He coughed hard, the remaining air in his lungs forcing out that little bit of water he'd inhaled.

He gave one last kick as his autonomic nervous system fought him, forcing a deep breath. He felt the water rush in and then felt his face break the surface. He coughed hard, spitting water out and struggling to keep his face above the water. Every time he tried to take a breath, water would lap over his face and force him to exhale.

After a short moment he felt hands grabbing him, pulling him up into a boat. As his vision started to normalize and his coughing fit died down, he looked around.

He was on one of the SWCC boats, along with Mike and the young girl. He looked past the rear of the boat and saw the submersible bobbing in the water. The other SWCC boat was on its way to retrieve the sub.

"Here you go, sir," one of the soldiers said, handing him a pair of pants. Brad coughed again as he slid his wet legs into the pants, starting to shiver with the cold air whipping past as they headed for the dock. The boat wasn't moving slowly.

Brad watched as a medic pulled the chitinous material off of Mike's face, then worked on the young girl. As the coughing subsided and his breath and pulse began to normalize he felt the familiar rising of anger building up. They'd used _kids_ as hostages.

As they approached the dock and slowed, Brad could see a few figures at the dock. Cedric was standing next to Cho, who was bent over coughing. His hand was on her back and a concerned look on his face. Krum and What's-Her-Name from the Yule ball were standing together, both wrapped in towels. And Ludo Bagman was standing at the end of the dock, waving at the boat excitedly.

The boat's operator was obviously experienced with the vessel. He ran the boat toward the dock at full speed, cutting the thrust and turning at just the right moment so that the boat slid gently to the dock.

Brad saw Jason and Eric push past Bagman and head to his end of the dock, where they helped Brad up and out of the boat. Both of them looked like he felt, _pissed._ Mike was stirring into consciousness and started coughing. He was able to get up on his own feet and they helped him up. The medic picked up the young girl, who had still not regained consciousness, and handed her up.

As Brad picked her up, she started to cough a bit. She turned her head into his neck and wrapped her arms around him without opening her eyes. Her gentle coughs continued as she started to rouse.

"Did you know?" Brad asked. He didn't need to explain further his meaning and both of his operators shook their heads no.

"Marvelous job, Mr. Gordon!" Brad heard from behind him and Brad felt his body go cold as he turned. "If you'll just hand her over to the-" Bagman was gesturing toward a wizard in white robes, presumably a medic of some kind, but Brad was having none of it.

"I'll take her to the med tent myself," he said. Bagman smiled placatingly but didn't move.

"Nonsense, you need to get your scor-" Bagman started, but was again cut off by Brad.

"Step the fuck aside," Brad growled. The ministry official looked startled but didn't move.

"Now then, there's no need-" Ludo started, but he stopped his sentence short when he met the venomous look in Brad's eye. As if that wasn't enough, Eric and Jason both stepped a little closer, wordlessly backing their team-leader.

Finally, Ludo Bagman stepped aside, and Brad started walking toward the medical tent. He adjusted his hold on the young girl, who was starting to become much more alert. He could hear panicked French as they got closer and as they reached the tent opening, Brad turned to look at Jason and Eric.

"He doesn't enter this tent." Jason nodded once and stepped to the side of the tent opening, Eric taking the other side, and Brad entered inside.

Fleur was sitting up in a bed with tear streaks running down her cheeks as she babbled in French, fighting off the attempts by a pair of medical wizards to check her out. She glanced up and when she saw Brad with the young girl, her eyes opened wide.

"Gabrielle!" she shrieked, jumping out of bed and running to them. The young girl in his arms twisted and he let her down, though she didn't make it to the ground. Fleur snatched her up into a hug, crying in relief. "Je croyais t'avoir perdu!"

"Captain!" he heard the bellowing of Colonel Sumner from outside the tent. He didn't want to stay and crowd their reunion anyhow, so he slipped out of the tent. Ludo Bagman, Professor Dumbeldore, and Colonel Sumner were standing on the edge of the dock near the med tent. Eric and Jason looked confused on what to do. They were loyal to their team leader, but Sumner was in ultimate command.

"Sir?" Brad asked, his vision seemed to tint red as he laid eyes on Bagman again. His muscles tensed as he stared down the head of Department of Magical Games and Sports, the one responsible for this whole clusterfuck.

"Captain, stand down!" Colonel Sumner ordered, seeing the clench in Brad's fists. Brad didn't move, but he looked from Bagman to the Colonel.

"Using children as _hostages_?" Brad asked, "Tell me you didn't know about this, sir." Sumner stared the captain down without blinking and responded.

"They were not hostages, _captain,_ " he reminded the operator of his rank, an attempt to reign him back in, "They were volunteers and they were completely safe."

"The merpeople of our lake were not hostage takers," Dumbledore chimed in calmly, as though everyone was having a discussion about a favorite recipe, "they were caretakers. After the hour was up, the merpeople would have simply returned the volunteers to the surface. There was no danger of them coming to harm, Captain, I assure you."

Brad felt some of the anger draining from his system, relief that they hadn't just been massively betrayed by everyone for a game. It still tasted sour, however, thinking of them using human _hostages._ He couldn't drop that term for it.

"What happened to Fleur?" Brad asked after a long moment. Everyone visibly relaxed, save the Colonel. Sumner looked to Jason.

Colonel Sumner stepped forward, directly in front of Brad. "You're under a lot of stress and I get that Captain, but if you can't keep yourself in check I'll have you out of here faster than you can blink, you copy?"

"Understood, sir," Brad replied. Sumner turned to face Ludo Bagman.

"Do you want to pursue disciplinary action on the captian?" Sumner asked him. Bagman laughed uncomfortably and stammered for a second. When it became clear that Sumner intended to wait for an answer, he spoke up.

"Well, it's as you said, isn't it?" Bagman chuckled lightly, "High stress and all. I think we are all in agreement that this little outburst was a one-time thing."

"Understood." Sumner replied, turning back to Brad. "You lucked out. Report to the FOB at 0500 tomorrow." Sumner turned and walked away. Dumbledore and Bagman turned and headed back to the docks, where people were just starting to head out from the stands.

"She got attacked by some Grindylows," Eric said, apparently having stepped beside Brad, "whatever the hell those are. Knocked her out of the running." He could still hear the emotional reunion inside the tent and decided they should head out.

"Let's go find Mike," Brad said. He'd trusted the operator to be self sufficient while he got the girl, Gabrielle, to the med tent.

"Sure," Jason said. They started toward the docks. "You tied for first, by the way."

"Huh?" Brad asked, confused by what he could possibly mean.

"The tournament. You're tied for first with Cedric. I don't remember the particulars but you and Cedric are tied," Jason replied. Brad had forgotten for a moment that there were points, that this was a game.

"Fuckin' hell," Brad said, running his hand over his face. This stupid tournament was gonna be the end of him.


	51. Dual Purpose

AN - Quick reassurance, the story is definitely not dead. Just have had a killer writers block lately and a crippling case of the "very busies." Enjoy!

* * *

Brad tried to remember the last time he'd had his ass chewed so thoroughly, but he was drawing a blank. While Instructor Martinez had a way of making a trainee feel like a special kind of fuck-up, it simply didn't hold a candle to the creative and colorful tongue-lashing he had received from Colonel Sumner.

It wasn't all bluster and haughtiness, either. The colonel had illustrated, with the detailed thoroughness of an auditor and the red-faced thunder of Zeus himself, _why_ Brad needed to maintain his discipline and focus at all times. That, and the supreme disappointment he felt in Brad's lapse of self-control. Brad left Sumner's office with his ears ringing and a twisted feeling in his gut.

He wasn't sure how long it'd been, but the sun was up and the morning was starting to warm. He sat on the log where he'd spent an evening with Fleur and stared at the lake, running the events over in his head. He could plainly see, looking back, each error in judgment and how it had cascaded into the next.

Without realizing it, he'd allowed himself to fall into the trap of overconfidence. Thrown off kilter by being the underdog in a magic-based competition, he had stubbornly insisted on proving to himself that he could do this on his own. When his egg broke he hadn't allowed himself to even _consider_ asking for help repairing it. He just charged on with incomplete information and confidence in his own interpretation.

That confidence crashed down around him when he stepped outside and saw the lake, now looking deceptively peaceful. He was off balance and had compensated poorly. When he saw the hostag... _volunteers..._ underwater, he'd lost his objectivity. Dumbledore had shown nothing but the utmost care for his students and Sumner had done the same for those under his command. Even the Ministry of Magic, in it's uniquely supremacist way, had been careful not to cause harm to the students. Yes, the tournament was still incredibly dangerous and potentially fatal, but they'd taken many safety measures.

None of that factored into his mind when he saw them. Using his heart to think instead of his mind, he saw carelessness, danger, wanton disregard for the safety of minors, and it set him off. It wasn't a mistake he intended to make again, however.

He heard a twig snap under someone's foot from somewhere behind him and was immediately pulled from his thoughts. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed Jason and Eric, both of whom gave up trying to walk quietly.

"Goddamnit," Jason sighed, "I knew I blew it with that twig."

"Yeah," Brad chuckled as the operators took up spots on the log to either side of him. "You were never cut out to be a ninja." Jason grunted in agreement but said nothing. "So, what brings you guys out here?"

"Well," Eric started. He didn't seem to know where to go with it, so Jason cut in.

"We both received shiny new assholes, courtesy of the colonel."

"That," Eric agreed, sticking a finger in his ear and flexing his jaw.

"The colonel definitely has a way with words," Brad agreed. They sat there silently for a moment and listened to distant birds chirping. Brad stood up suddenly and turned to face them, feeling guilty. "Look, guys, I'm sorry. I fucked up, let it get to me. I'm sorry I dragged you into that."

Jason gave Eric a quick glance, a simple _are you thinking what I'm thinking_ kind of look that was forged over years of spending their lives so closely knit. Brad caught the subtle flex in Eric's jaw along with his slight nod, movements that would be nearly imperceptible to the layperson.

"Cap, it all looked shady. No one told us shit and with the way it looked…" Jason trailed off the memory of holding the coughing young girl in his arms. "We've got your back."

"Yeah," Brad nodded, not knowing what else to say. "I'll try to judge better next time. I don't know if my ears could take much more of that," he said, nodding in the general direction of the FOB. They chuckled and Eric stood up as well, digging into one of the cargo pockets in his pants.

"I almost forgot," he said, pulling a slightly wrinkled envelope out and handing it to Brad.

"Yeah, Sumner wanted us to get that to you." Jason commented, more interested in a stick he'd picked up off the ground. Brad turned the blank envelope over and opened it, pulling out a small note.

 _Captain Gordon,_

 _At the request of the French Bureau de Liaison Moldu, with authorization from President Christopher Harris of the Magical Congress of the United States of America and General Raymond Thomas of the Joint Special Operations Command, you are ordered to report to the Beauxbatons Carriage to facilitate inquiries about Task Force Ansible. Arrive at 1600 hrs and return to your duty station by 0800 hrs._

 _Colonel Sumner_

"Huh," Brad grunted after reading the note. He showed it to the other operators, both of whom made similar noises.

"Damn, guess you're moving up in the world," Eric said, grinning at the disbelieving look on Brads' face.

"That or he pissed someone off," Jason said, smiling. "You have fun with that!"

For the first time that morning, Brad checked his watch. It was already almost coming up on noon. His gear was all stowed in his locker but after he had left it crumpled on the dock during the second task, he wanted to get it all cleaned up and in good order before the day was over. Having lost the evening to the whim of the French Ministry, he had his work cut out for him.

* * *

"I _heard_ them," Hermione said, sitting quickly on the edge of the common room couch. Her back was straight and her hands were clasped together between her knees as she glanced up at Mike. "You volunteered."

"I-" Mike opened his mouth but the venomous look she shot him told him that she wasn't finished talking, so he closed it. She was _pissed._ He'd let slip as he started his speech that his trip to London had been, in part, related to his role in the second task. Part of loving a girl with a quick mind meant that...misinformation with a romantic intent...could _rapidly_ land him in hot water.

"I talked to Hannah Abbot. You all were taken yesterday morning. You were gone for a long time before that and all of the others were volunteers. Are you saying that Colonel Sumner _ordered_ you to go to London for a month in order to have you ready for the tournament?" He could tell by the tone in her voice that she already knew the answer.

"Well, not strictly speaking-" he started, but she cut him off again. Her face was flushed and her eyes watered, but the strength in her voice never wavered.

" _Not strictly speaking?"_ she asked. "You let me believe that you'd been ordered to leave, to be gone over Valentine's Day...but you chose to." She let the accusation hang silent and there was almost a pleading look in her eye. She knew the facts but she didn't want them to be true and as much as Mike wanted to be able to give her that small comfort, he couldn't lie to her. Not directly, not over something this big. He fidgeted with the ring in his pocket. This had all gone so wrong.

"You're right," Mike said quietly. Hermione let a breath out that sounded like she'd been punched in the gut. He wanted to step closer, to comfort her, but he wasn't sure that it was what she wanted from him at the moment. "It wasn't an order."

She stared straight ahead, chewing on her lip in a way that made him cringe. Tears welled in her eyes but didn't spill over as she sat there, silent. Mike kept rubbing the ring, wanting to pull it out. To give it to her and tell her, but this was all wrong. He didn't want the first time he said it to be to repair a fight...that would diminish its meaning. She'd probably believe him, but he didn't want her to doubt it. It would be special, magical, but that meant it would have to wait.

She looked up at him and the movement broke the tears free from their hold on her eyelashes. "Was it something I did?" she asked in an almost broken voice. He felt the breath knocked from his body at the ludicrous place her mind had gone, his throat constricting. She was staring through him now, wracking her brain for meaning. "Was it how I did my hair for the ball, or-"

That was as far as he let her get. _Jesus_ , this had all gone wrong. "No," he said, crossing the short distance between them, sitting and pulling her into an embrace all in one motion. It sent her over the edge and she began sobbing. Mike ran his fingers through her hair. "You didn't do a _damned_ thing wrong, this was me. I was focused on my task and I wasn't thinking and I am _so_ sorry for that, Hermione." He didn't know what else to say, so he held her.

* * *

Brad stood outside the Beauxbatons' carriage for several moments, feeling a little more nervous than he'd have preferred. He had spent the day trying to get some information on _who_ had requested him for this assignment, wondering if Sumner was doing it as punishment for him losing his cool during the second task.

Finally, after not getting anything locally, he'd made his way up to the attic above the Astronomy tower, where TFA had set up its local communications hub. Lieutenant Offerman was on duty and that extorting bastard had allowed him to borrow a satphone for an hour, at the cost of his three remaining cheese tortellini MREs.

He made a couple calls to Fort Bragg to see what he could find out. The result of his hour of inquiries left him regretting the transaction all together. He hadn't been able to pull strings so much as gently tug on some threads, and all he found out was that _someone_ in the French Ministry had contacted _someone_ at MACUSA and requested that they send _someone_ to answer questions about the Ansible program. JSOC loved its redacted documents.

So here he was, with the knowledge that he was here to get grilled about TFA, and not much else. _No sense stewing_ , he thought to himself and raised a hand to knock. His arm was still raised when the door swung open and the imposing figure of Madame Maxine stood in the doorway.

"Capi-tan Gordon," she greeted him in a heavy accent as she stepped out of the doorway. Brad lowered his arm and stepped inside, removing his hat. He'd opted to wear fatigues and his sidearm, secretly hopeful that he might unnerve whatever bureaucrat they'd sent. A long shot, especially since most magical folk seemed not to have a healthy respect for firearms, but one could dream.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," Brad replied. "I'm here to answer some questions." He took a look around the room he was standing in. The place was colossal. They were standing in what looked like a lounging room, with several love seats and chairs, including a large one that looked like it had been made of reinforced oak. The ceiling was vaulted and had an expensive looking chandelier hanging, bathing the lounging room with soft light.

To the left and right were hallways that edged further back into the carriage, lined with doors. Likely the student quarters. Between the hallways sat a kitchen and dining room combination sporting a...chocolate fountain, of all things.

"I 'ad it brought in for La Saint-Valentin," Madame Maxine commented, tracking the operators gaze. "It 'as been difficult to let go of."

"I'm sure," Brad replied, tearing his eyes away from the luxury and returning them to the headmistress. "So, where am I headed?"

"Over 'ere." She was standing by her reinforced chair. As he started over, she gestured to a crystal liquor decanter that was devoid of contents.

"Uh," Brad started, unsure where she was going with this.

"It eez one of my favorite decanters," she said. "It will take you to ze chateau."

Brad reached for it, a thought tickling the back of his mind. It took him a moment to register what she was saying. It would take him to the chateau. Before he could stop himself, he'd gripped the decanter. A hook grabbed him by the gut and yank him off his feet.

The world spun around him for longer than he'd experienced during their trip to the Quidditch Cup. As he was starting to wonder if he would be stuck spinning like this forever, he started catching glimpses. An office of some kind, coming up fast. He tried to get his feet underneath him but his knees buckled on impact and he crumpled to the ground.

"Ça, alors!" a deep voice rumbled from nearby. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Brad began to push himself up and felt a firm grasp on his upper arm, assisting him in standing. Brad straightened his fatigues and glanced around the office, then at the man. The office was roomy and modestly decorated, primarily by bookshelves. There were a few tables with trinkets that he couldn't identify, along with a desk. The room was gently lit by ceiling lights, though a fireplace added its own light to the relaxing atmosphere.

"Right on time," the man said, a French inflection barely perceptible. He was an older man, half a head taller than Brad. His jet-black hair was closely cropped and he wore a matching triangular beard. His eyes were sharp, though the wrinkles around them spoke of years of laughter. The man had a fighters physique, albeit one that had seen some years of neglect. If Brad had been a betting man he'd guess that his host had been a soldier in a past life, or some wizarding equivalent anyhow. "Please, have a seat." He gestured to one of the cozy, padded chairs on the other end of the desk as he sat down in his own chair. Curiously, there was little padding on his own behind the desk.

"Thank you, sir," Brad replied, sitting on the edge of the chair. The holster for his sidearm was situated on his thigh and he didn't want it digging into his leg, or the side of the chair.

"I see you came armed," the wizard said, glancing to the conspicuous sidearm.

"Never leave home without it," Brad nodded. "Where am I? That went on longer than it did the last time."

"Perceptive," he smiled. "Yes, the distance you traveled to the Quidditch Cup was much less. You are in France, outside of Saint-Bonnet-du-Gard." He chuckled as Brad raised his eyebrows, the only indication of shock that slipped out. France was a _long_ way from Hogwarts. "Relax, Captain. I arranged this with your leadership ahead of time."

"Right," Brad replied, shelving that bit of worry for later. "You had some questions about Task Force Ansible."

"I must admit, my reasons for requesting your presence are two-fold." He leaned back into his chair, clasping his hands together. "As the head of the Muggle Liaison Office, your Ansible program has thrust my work into the limelight, so to speak. I am coordinating the creation of our own, similar program."

"Congratulations," Brad said, and he meant it. If France was anything like Britain, the Muggle Liaison Office would have been a backwater post originally. If the French were planning on throwing their chips in as the United States did, creating their own Ansible program, that meant they needed someone who knew muggles to help smooth that process, which meant what likely amounted to a promotion. It would also be nice to have allies in the fight against whatever magical threats were out there.

"Thank you," he nodded before sitting forward and placing his arms on the desk. "The other reason for my bringing you here is to say thank you." He seemed to be staring into Brads' soul, though there was no hint of malice. Brad was simply missing some bit of information.

"Sir?" Brad asked, shifting uncomfortably. With a chuckle, the man broke his deep gaze.

"You have a penchant for saving my daughters, Captain Gordon," he said. The pieces fell together. This was Fleur's father. _Oh damn._ "And for that, I am thankful. Before we progress into the evening, however, let's get the business out of the way."

* * *

Howard Eden looked at a copy of the note that had been intercepted from Rufus Scrimgeours' counterpart in Albania and smiled.

 _Rufus,_

 _It is good to hear from you again, old friend. How is your leg? I still owe you big for saving my guys from that coven._

 _I looked into our open cases and we do have a body that matches your description, mostly. It is difficult to tell with one-hundred percent certainty, the body looks like it was set upon by an animal. Snake if I had to guess, based on some of the puncture marks,_ _but only some of the limbs are intact..._

 _Well, anyway, if you're certain she went missing here, I'd give it 80% probability that this is your witch. Sorry to deliver bad news. Let me know if there is anything more I can do to help._

 _Ilir_

"Ava," Howard flashed a dazzling smile at the pudgy young witch, causing her to blush. "You have no idea how much work you've saved me."

"Oh, Mr. Eden," she started, but she stopped when Howard took her hand and kissed it, her blush deepening.

"You, my dear, are a lifesaver." He gave her a wink. "You keep that eye out for me, honey." With a smile that kept her in that mushy, melted state, he turned and stepped outside, to the thick trees of Richmond Park, twirling his stubby wand between his fingers.

Well, that settled it. Between that and the little rumors that he was hearing from former Death Eaters, Lord Voldemort was definitely returning. No one spoke directly of it, of course, but Howard had spent his entire time in England setting up his intelligence network, and all of the individual bits were pointing in one direction.

His crown jewel, of course, was young Ava. An owl-keeper at the largest Owlery in London, Ava was in a _perfect_ place to intercept mail for him. All she had to do was a simple replication charm he'd taught her and he got an exact copy of the mail without anyone the wiser. It didn't even cost him money, she was content with his flirtation. The poor thing must be deprived of anyone who cared, as easy to manipulate as she was.

He also spent a lot of time listening to the idle chatter of former Death Eaters, with whom he'd befriended in his original plan to own this little slice of real estate. They were starting to worry, among themselves, that the "Dark Lord" was returning, something to do with enchanted tattoos. What a pretentious name, at least Voldemort _sounded_ cool, but Dark Lord? He rolled his eyes.

But, if he really was returning, then Howard was going to need to shift his plans. Usurping control from the remaining Death Eaters would have been easy, back when they were a bunch of disbanded and leaderless peons. With their leader returning, he couldn't hope to just wrest control. Things would need to be more subtle.

Subtle was okay, though. With the Ministry of Magic butting heads with the Death Eaters, another powerful force by any respect, he could almost taste the power vacuum that would be left if he played his cards right.

He paused the twirl of his wand, gripping it in a maneuver that had taken him years of practice to perfect, and conjured parchment, a quill and an envelope. All of it floated in the air in front of him. Studying the copy of Mr. Ilir's letter, he focused and the quill began to transcribe for him in the same exact cursive of _the_ original letter.

 _Rufus,_

 _It is good to hear from you again. How is your leg?_

 _I looked into our open cases and we had a body here that could maybe have been your witch, but it was already disposed of as an Unsolvable, so there's no way to know for sure. I'm sorry there isn't more._

 _This makes us even,_

 _Ilir_

Howard smiled at the perfect match to the handwriting, a trick he'd picked up in North Carolina, and placed the letter in the envelope. Another perk about using his duplicating spell on a letter is that it left a trace on the letter that one could track, if they were looking for it. Duplication spells weren't particularly common, though, especially on mail, so he wasn't worried about anyone else doing it.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the primary room in the Owlery, feeling for the original letter. When he found it, he floated the letter out of the window, sending the replacement in simultaneously. The owl charged with transporting the letter began to shriek as it slipped away, but it calmed back down when his version came back in. Simple creatures, owls.

His version of the letter suited his needs perfectly. It gave Mr. Scrimgeour the fuel he needed to keep digging, without giving him proof that could sway Minister Fudge. He wanted to keep both sides of the table open for a little while longer, while he finished setting things up.


End file.
